


The Child

by candicame



Series: NightVale Child AU [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Domestic, M/M, parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:05:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candicame/pseuds/candicame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Would anyone like a child?  I'm not sure if they're even fully sentient but the City Counsel has all these strange, mute children...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carlos pressed a kiss to his lover's temple and tried to sit up. Cecil obviously wasn't awake, he hadn't opened his eyes, but he murmured something unintelligible and tangled Carlos up in every possible appendage. Carlos sighed contentedly and gave Cecil's neck an affectionate squeeze. He tried to take his arms off his boyfriend's shoulders, but a pair of purple tentacles had wound all the way up to his biceps and held him tight.

 

“Baby,” he whispered, trying not to fully wake the man beside him, “I need to get up, ok?” he paused and kissed all three of Cecil's closed eyelids, one after the other, “I'm just gonna run to the bathroom and make us some breakfast, ok? I promise I won't get sucked into any alternate dimensions along the way.”

 

Cecil snuggled in closer. Carlos willed his breathing to slow down. He had always loved this closeness, but ever since Kevin had... ever since he met Kevin, too many tentacles made him a little... _claustrophobic_. He had fallen asleep with his hair in a messy bun and it was yanking at his scalp. In the month he had been home, he had either been at work, or in bed with Cecil. Cecil almost went into a panic any time he left the room. When Carlos was at work, he left messages. When they weren't together, he talked about him on the radio. It was sweet. It was loving. It was adorable.

 

Carlos couldn't breath.

 

He struggled to slip his arms out of Cecil's grasp, but they held firm. He whimpered. “Cece, babe, please,” he whispered, “Please let me up, ok? You've got me trapped.” He kept his voice steadier than he felt.

 

Cecil snuggled further into his chest, and his grip relaxed. Carlos took a deep breath and slowly, carefully, extracted himself from the nest that was his boyfriend. He felt stupid. He had to stop panicking. He looked back down at Cecil's sleeping form and thought that he looked serene, angelic even. He had been so stupid to throw this all away. If only he had fought harder, he knew Night Vale would have accepted him sooner. He ran a hand through Cecil's lavender hair and felt his lover lean into it. He smiled.

 

He bent over to pull last night's boxers off the floor where he had mindlessly thrown them, slid on his glasses, stood and stretched until he heard his joints pop. He had taken to making extravagant breakfasts, partially as a way to deal with the guilt, and partially just because he _knew_ Cecil hadn't been eating properly while he was away. This knowledge just added to the intense remorse. 

 

He brushed his teeth without the help of his reflection, and shaved in the screen of his cell phone. It was more difficult than he remembered. He propped the phone on the sink as he let his hair down and  _tried_ to detangle it. He knew better than to go to sleep with it pulled up, but he hadn't had long hair for long enough for that action to become habit. He wanted to cut it. He lived in a desert, and his hair was thick and heavy and dark, it attracted the sun and trapped the heat. But he couldn't do that. The last time he had done that, he had unknowingly banished a man to die in the desert heat, only  _after_ he had succumbed to the madness brought on by heat stroke. Carlos shuddered and started the lengthy process of brushing out all the tangles from two years worth of growth. When it was livable, he pulled it back into a tight ponytail and headed into the kitchen to make his perfect, patient, partner some breakfast.

 

He walked into the living room and froze. A small child, around four years old, pale as the moon with blank eyes and no discernible expression, sat motionless on his couch. He turned around, and walked right back into the bedroom. He picked his jeans up off the floor, threw them over one arm, and gently shook Cecil.

 

“Babe,” he whispered, “Cece? Sweety?”

 

Cecil rolled over and looked at him with sleep filled eyes, “Mmmm... good morning, perfect Carlos,” he hummed, and extended his arms for a hug.

 

“Babe, on a scale of 1 to 10, how dangerous is it if there's a creepy “Village of the Damned” child in the living room?”

 

Cecil hummed happily and tugged Carlos on top of him. He buried his head in Carlos's shoulder and inhaled deeply. When he spoke, he sounded half asleep, between the real world and the dream world, “Oh, that's nothing. It's a message from the City Counsel.” He snuggled into Carlos's shoulder, “They sometimes send messages via the mute children. We can deal with it later. I don't think it's sentient.”

 

“But they're a human child...” Carlos protested, pushing against Cecil until he was standing. He slipped on his jeans, “Have they been brainwashed or... 'Re-educated?' I mean, human children have sentience. Scientifically speaking, Carmaloff-Smith, that's another scientist, by the way, but she did experiments on children and found that they had sentience. And could demonstrate it as early as three months old. That kid in there looks way older than that.”

 

Cecil shrugged, then in his same sleepy voice, “mmm, Come back to bed, Carloooos”.

 

“Um...” Carlos glanced at Cecil as he felt the tentacles wrapping around his arm. He gently pulled them off. “I'm actually going to go see what's up with that kid, OK?”

 

Cecil murmured sleepily in response, but it sounded positive. Carlos adjusted his pants and grabbed the T-shirt he found on the floor. It was covered in... stains. He slung it over his arm to throw in the laundry hamper and pulled a new one at random out of his dresser. He made his way to the bathroom, threw the dirty shirt in the laundry pile, washed his hands, and headed back to the living room. The creepy child hadn't moved at all. He approached it cautiously.

 

The child held an envelope out to him. He smiled, and hoped that it conveyed the friendliness that he was trying to get across, and not the terror that a childhood full of movies like  _Poltergeist_ had instilled in him. He knelt to be eye-level with the child, and took the letter, gently, with no sudden movements.

 

“Thank you,” He said, cheerfully, “Are you ok? Do you want some breakfast?”

 

The child stared at him with it's strange, blank eyes.

 

“I'm gonna make some breakfast,” Carlos announced, “I'll make you something _yummy_.”

 

He stood, and the child said nothing, but turned it's head to watch him. It was  _incredibly_ unsettling. He walked past the bar that separated the living room and the kitchen, and then a few more feet, until he was certain the child could no longer see him, before he opened the letter.

 

Mr Cecil G Palmer & Mr Carlos T Scientist,

 

It has come to our attention that you have recently reached the two year milestone in your romantic relationship. Upon review of all relevant paperwork, we have concluded that you have met all the requirements for our mandatory parenting program. We seriously have so many of these weird mute kids around here. Like so many. Like you don't even know. And you guys have submitted over 600 romantic involvement, end-of-date forms, long-range relationship requests, long-term relationship requests, etc, that we have decided to gift you this strange mute child. It will require a blood sacrifice of like, I don't know... let's say a liter? Maybe two? Just to be safe? Those kids love their blood. But I think it's a one time thing. Maybe. Whatever. Your problem now.

 

Sincerely,

Night Vale City Council

 

PS Dude if that pretty scientist can figure out what's up with these things, that'd totally be neat.

 

pto

 

Carlos stared at the letter. Then, after a few minutes consideration, he flipped it over. On the back was a crayon drawing of himself, Cecil, and the child in front of a house. The crescent moon was shining in the left corner, and a cat was floating just above the house. It was objectively terrible. No perspective, no attempt at decent color theory, no attention to line or form or any other element of art. He loved it. He finally looked up and jumped. The child was standing there, staring at him.

 

“OK, wow,” Carlos took a deep breath, “You are a ninja, aren't you?” The child didn't respond, and instead, stared at Carlos. “Right. Um... Did you draw this?”

 

The child stared at him with it's blank, pupil-less eyes.

 

“I like it.” Carlos smiled, trying something, anything, to get through to this child. Then a thought struck him, “Um... are you deaf?”

 

The child stared at him. Carlos took a chopstick from last night's leftovers, dipped it in the sweet and sour sauce, pulled a paper towel off the roll, and wrote “My name is Carlos! Do you understand?” He tried to hand it to the child, but it just stared at him.

 

“Ok!” Carlos forced his voice to be chipper, “I'm going to show this letter and your beautiful drawing to Cecil! He'll love them, and he might know more about this than me! And I'm still going to make breakfast, so then we'll all sit down and have a nice, uh... family meal! Right!”

 

He reached out and carefully, gently, patted the child's head. It didn't react. He tried smiling reassuringly, but it didn't seem to do anything either, so he eventually walked past the child into the bedroom. It had turned to watch him leave.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos has several very scientific hypotheses about the child, Cecil kind of wants to kill it with fire because he thinks it might drag Carlos away to another dimension after he just got him back.

It took Cecil a pretty good while to rub the sleep out of his eyes and actually face the child, now sitting, staring at him from across the table. Carlos only half watched them from the kitchen while he rummaged around, going through the fridge, through counters, and finally started cooking. Stacked strawberry chickpea pancakes. Kids loved strawberry shortcake, right? That was totally a thing.

Eventually, Cecil got up, walked to the counter, took the bag of coffee beans, poured a handful into his ceremonial bowl, selected for it's durability rather than it's aesthetic qualities, and Carlos lost himself in the rhythmic beating as Cecil pounded them into a powder. He was banging his head along when he thought to shoot a glance at the child. It was still staring, eyes boring into them, unblinking, unflinching at the loud sounds. Cecil tapped the grounds into the coffee-maker and turned it on.

 

“So,” Carlos began once it started to percolate, “Are you... a vampire?” Then, to Cecil, “Are vampires a thing?”

 

“Why would it be a vampire?” Cecil asked, genuinely confused and not at all awake.

 

“I don't know, the letter said that they like blood. And they're like, really pale. So my working hypothesis is vampire, but inasmuch as I know, vamparism has only really been researched by folklorist and not really /scientists/, I mean, except for sociologists and those studies aren't on /actual/ vampires, they're on people who /think/ that they're vampires, but I also haven't really had time to google it yet. There might be some research that's come out of Night Vale or a similar community that I'm not aware of. I thought that maybe you would know.” He slid a pancake onto a plate and topped it with a layer of the candied strawberries, “Sometimes you know more sociological things about Night Vale than I do. You're smart, Cecil.”

 

Cecil beamed at the compliment. “I don't think it's a vampire. Vampires tend to be less...” he waved his hand as if trying to indicate something, but Carlos wasn't certain what, “Silent. And unblinking. And generally non-sentient.”

 

“mm” Carlos flipped the pancake. He had absolutely no response to that. After a few minutes thought he added, “After breakfast I'm going to try to draw out maybe a pint of blood. I don't think I can do without a full liter. I mean, I can, but that's 1/7th of my total blood and that's kind of a lot? And I feel like if I do that I might have to just lay around and make more. And being low on blood makes people really lethargic.”

 

“You don't have to supply the entire liter _yourself_ ,” Cecil smiled and poured himself a cup of the coffee, which had filled the house with an absolutely _intoxicating_ scent, “You're not a single parent.”

 

“mm” Carlos said again, gazing intently at the pancake and sliding it on top of the strawberry glaze.

 

“Carloooooos,” Cecil sang, trying to get his attention.

 

“It's just that... you should probably... not donate blood?” Carlos didn't meet his eyes as he poured more batter into the pan.

 

“What? Why would you say that!?” Cecil sounded just as insulted as Carlos had feared.

 

Carlos sighed. This is not something that he should have to explain to an adult, “Cece. Babe. Your blood is FULL of borrelia burgdorferi. I don't even want it in /your/ blood. You can't just give it to somebody else.”

 

“It's fine,” Cecil rolled his eyes.

 

“It's /not/ fine! It can affect your /entire/ peripheral nervous system! It can cause paralysis! And /death/! It can /kill/ you Cecil!” He finally looked at him, met his gaze with pleading eyes.

 

“Like the 'materials' in the station?” Cecil mocked.

 

“Yes! Your entire building is /radioactive/! You can't just... be all... radioactive and... lyme diseased... You need to take antibiotics and /rest/. No more going to wa-” he stopped himself and flipped the pancake, “It's dangerous, Cecil. People die. Please just take the antibiotics I got you? For me? Do it for a month and I won't mention it again.”

 

“Carloooos,” Cecil leaned over the counter, “I've /done/ the proper rituals, it's /fine/.”

 

“Oh my /god/, Cece, you can't just /pray away/ disease that's not a thing!” Carlos flipped the pancake again, “I was right about the mountains, right? Can you just trust me on this? Diseases are /very/ scientific. I trust you on all the spiritual stuff.”

 

“Fine. I'll take them for two weeks.” Cecil sashayed around the bar and kissed Carlos gently on the temple, “For you.”

 

“Thank you,” Carlos turned to cup his face and kiss him properly, “I just worry about you. I've... had reason to worry about you.”

 

“I know,” Cecil sighed and leaned into his chest. Carlos kissed the top of his head and squeezed his waist. “Hey, that plate's done, will you take it to the kid?”

 

Cecil picked up the plate, sat it down, and sprayed a heaping helping of whipped cream across it. Then he took it to the table and sat it down in front of the child. He thought for a second, came back to the kitchen, filled another mug with strong, black coffee, and sat it down next to the plate. The child stared at him.

 

* * *

 

Breakfast had given them no further hints about the strange child, but Carlos had managed to get Cecil to take the morning's antibiotic, even though he mentioned, several times, how silly he thought the entire thing was. Carlos had rolled his eyes and kissed his forehead and said that even if it /were/ silly, which it wasn't, because it was /incredibly/ scientifically accurate (and had then gone into great detail about the process by which antibiotics help the body eliminate foreign bacteria) it made him feel better. He had then loaded the dishwasher, and sanitized the table before bringing out the medical kit.

 

The child had not eaten. Instead, it had stared at Cecil and Carlos, silent and unblinking, as they ate and talked and held hands and laughed at each other. It continued to sit at the table while Carlos cleaned it, completely unresponsive to the conversation that he tried to make. Carlos sat across the table at him, and Cecil brought him his medical kit.

 

“I told you,” Cecil said for what felt like the thousandth time, “It doesn't have sentience.”

 

“Well it still can't /hurt/ to talk to them.” Carlos explained as he wrapped the rubber band around his arm and held it out for Cecil to tie, “I'm certain that children who's parents talk to them openly and honestly and frequently are happier than children who's parents don't.”

 

“I think that you've been duped by city hall, sweety,” Cecil smirked, “They just want you to figure out what it is. I don't think it can love you as a parent. I see them all the time at the station.”

 

“Maybe, but that's a null hypothesis. I'm really hoping to prove it wrong.” he flexed his hand and made a fist, “Hey didn't something like this happen to your friend? The boy-scout? Didn't he keep one of the mute children?”

 

“No,” Cecil leaned on his hand, “He was dragged into another dimension by mute children”.

 

Carlos's eyes were wide and he was talking quickly now, inspired by an idea, and didn't seem to connect Cecil's friend being dragged away to an Otherworld, and his recent return from and Otherworld, with Cecil's concern or apathy (disdain?) toward the strange child. He offered no, _don't worry babe, I won't get dragged off again_ or _I'll take proper precautions to make sure that doesn't happen to me_ or anything like that.

 

Instead he rubbed an alcohol swap across his arm and ripped the sterile packaging off the syringe with his teeth. He inserted it into the vein while he spoke, “Yeah but he has a kid  _now_ doesn't he?”

 

Roger Harlan seemed to be permanently stuck in Cecil's mental blind spot. It took him a second to remember that the boy existed, “Oh. Yeah. He's in Janice's class. But he's not all... mute and otherworldly and creepy. He looks just like Earl, actually.”

 

“Oh,” Carlos hmmed as he filled the first vile. 

 

For the first time the child seemed genuinely interested in something. It stood and walked around the table to where Carlos sat, watching the blood flow into the tube. Carlos capped the first vile and handed it to Cecil, and started in on the second. He figured that he could fill about five before he got woozy, and smiled at the child.

 

“Look, Cece! See, he actually does like it. Don't worry, little bit, As soon as I get finished, I'll hook you up to an IV and- Cecil what are you doing?”

 

Cecil had uncapped the vile and handed it to the child, who downed it like a pixi stick. He stuck his tongue into the tube, trying to get the sticky droplets hanging from the side. Carlos watched with interest. 

 

“See?” he said as he handed Cecil the second tube, “That looks vampiric.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn't be so quick to judge,” Cecil chastised, and handed the child the second tube.

 

“Fair enough,” Carlos shrugged. The viles filled quickly, and he passed them to Cecil, who fed them to the child that had refused strawberry shortcakes. Carlos had, however, forgotten to keep track of how many he had already taken, because he expected to see Cecil holding them, not emptying them and handing them back to be refilled, so eventually he began to wonder where his glasses were. Then he realized that his glasses were on his face. /Then/ he began to wonder why they weren't working, as the world was going just as fuzzy with them on as it usually was without them. 

 

“Carlos?” Cecil's voice sounded far away, as if he were standing on the shore of a lake Carlos was diving in. “/Carlos/!”

 

The last thing he remembered as world faded away was asking Cecil to take out the needle, put cotton and a band-aid on it, and maybe, if he could, possibly, if it wasn't too much trouble, get him some orange milk. Before Cecil had a change to meet these requests, Carlos slipped from his chair and hit the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't gonna write more of this but people were really sweet about it so I got inspired!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memory is /weird/.

When Carlos opened his eyes he found that he was back in bed, and for a few minutes, he assumed that the entire thing had been a dream. The sky that he could see through the bedroom window was a bright orange that could have been sunrise. The sheets were soft, the blankets were warm, and Cecil was- he reached his hand out to find empty space. Cecil was gone. He stood on shaking legs and walked to the doorway.

 

“Cece?”

 

“He's at work!” an unfamiliar voice answered, “You awake? Lie back down. I'm cooking. Rog, why don't you help uh... this little... guy? Guy. Get his dad some orange milk. Build his blood back up.”

 

Carlos stood in the open door frame rather than obeying the strange voice. Who the hell was in his kitchen? He sounded vaguely familiar, but he was sure he'd never heard him before. At least not in person... maybe he had been on Cecil's show? On the radio?

 

He stumbled back to the bed and picked up the alarm clock from the nightstand. He flipped it from alarm to radio via muscle memory and reached for his glasses. When he slid them on the blinking red lights in the shape of numbers told him that it was almost midnight, which would have made the orange sunrise, which he now realized was a sun _set_ odd, if he lived anywhere else. Being where he was, he didn't even register it as something worth noticing.

 

“ _There were no survivors_ ” Cecil's beautiful baritone rang out from the small speakers, “ _We have an update on the puppy infestation. It seems that Strexcorp is far less humane in their tactics than the city counsel. Says a nude and radiantly glowing spokes-being for the company, 'We already lost this building once or something, like that's what Josie says, so I guess we're gonna have to fumigate or whatever. Anyway, if you want one of these things better come and get um in the next couple hours because we're about to poison the SHIT outta this place”. The spokes-being said all this without making eye-contact, and while staring intently at its phone, which it was busily tapping away on. When it finished its speech, it folded its beautiful golden wings around its nude torso, and disappeared in a flash of brilliant black-light, leaving several reporters stunned and weeping.”_

 

Carlos looked up when he caught something move in his peripheral vision. A boy around the age of 11 with coppery hair wearing a scout uniform was peeking into the room. He seemed rather suspicious of it,which given where he was, and the fact that Carlos had no idea /who/ he was, was probably a wise trait to have. But this child was definitely less threatening than the last child he had seen, so he smiled and sat up straighter.

 

“Hello!” he tried to sound more chipper than he felt, “My name is Carlos.”

 

“I know who you are,” the boy replied, and he was concise, in a way that would have been considered rude, had Carlos not spent enough time among the readers to know that this was the common, and possibly preferred method of speaking for Night Vale children.

 

“Oh, well, you have me at a disadvantage then,” Carlos teased, “Because I don't know who you are.”

 

The boy studied him as if unsure whether or not he could be trusted, and it took him nearly a full minute to settle on an answer. Finally, he said, without any discernible emotion, “Roger Harlan.” His face was a careful blank, not the emotionless stare of the mute child from this morning, but a calculated calm, as if he were unsure whether or not he should be afraid.

 

“So, Roger,” Carlos asked, as Cecil sent his listeners to the weather, “Did Cecil ask you to come and take care of me? I think I might have passed out.”

 

“I know.” Roger held the glass out, “My /father/ told me to come here and give you this. He says that we need to watch over you. Interlopers are weak. They need to build up their strength if they're going to stay here.”

 

“I'm /not/ an interloper anymore,” Carlos was more annoyed than insulted, after all, despite his carefully crafted facade, he was talking to a child, “I've lived here for three years. I have a house, and mortgage, and a job, and people here who love me. All those things make up a home! Just like you have school, and scouts, and friends, and a family, and people who love you! We're both-”

 

“We are not the same,” Roger cut him off.

 

Carlos frowned. He didn't understand why this child seemed to... /dislike/ him so much. As far as he knew, he'd never seen this child before. They had absolutely no history, and he couldn't possibly have offended him. But the fact that he /had/ never seen him before, and the fact that “stranger danger” /was/ a thing, meant that it was much more difficult to win over the friendship of a vulnerable child than an adult.

 

“ROGER,” the adult voice cut through Carlos's thoughts, “IS THE SCIENTIST DEAD?”

 

“NO!” Roger replied, much more warmly, indicating that he /could/ feel affection, and did feel it towards whoever was shouting at him.

 

“DID YOU CHECK HIM LIKE IT SAID IN THE SCOUT MANUAL?”

 

Roger frowned, rolled his eyes, and let out a huff, “NO!”

 

“ROG-ER!” Carlos knew that tone. That was the tone of a disapproving parent. He heard his father calling 'Car-los' and knew that it was a warning meant to give him enough time to finish whatever task he was supposed to finish before the punishment.

 

“HE CHECKED ME” Carlos called, and Roger blinked at him.

 

In the kitchen, Earl slammed the lemon shavings down significantly harder than would be absolutely necessary. He would NOT have that /interloper/ teach his child to /lie/ to him. Why would he even do that? He already had Cecil, did he /really/ want to take someone /else/ from him? He flipped the chicken.

 

“ROGER GO BY THE MANUAL!” he instructed.

 

Roger stared at Carlos and sighed, “I need to check your pulse.”

 

Carlos held out his arm, and Roger held two fingers tightly over his wrist. When he was satisfied, he pulled out a penlight and shone it into Carlos's eyes. He tried his best to keep them open so the kid could check his pupil dilation but he had just woken up and god that was bright and annoying, and he found himself shying away from it. Roger pressed a hand firmly against his sternum and Carlos took some deep breaths so he could feel his chest rise and fall.

 

“You're not cold,” he announced at length.

 

“Yeah. I'm alive. Is there any particular reason that I shouldn't be alive?” Carlos asked, keeping his tone inquisitive rather than frightened.

 

“Dad said that you lost a lot of blood and sometimes when that happens people die, but I didn't think you would because Cecil really likes you and he would have been way sadder when he left if he thought you were dying and he's usually really good about that stuff. He was a scout too, you know. Dad and Cecil are friends, but I don't think Cecil can remember things very well. He... forgets about me. A lot of people forget about me. You're a scientist.”

 

Carlos was still contemplating the first run on sentence when the child stopped talking and stared at him expectantly.

 

“Yes!” Carlos enthused, “I am a scientist.”

 

“How come no one remembers me?” The boy asked, and the only hint towards just how much the question bothered him was the way his pupils vibrated. His face was stoic, but his eyes, his young, innocent eyes, were panicked. “I don't even remember me. I don't remember /anything/ before I was 11, and I had a dad, and a dog, and I lived in Night Vale. And no one remembers me. People in school thought that I was new. But I have all these badges. I have to... you have to _do things_ to get badges. My own dad didn't know my name!” He squared his shoulders and /glared/ at Carlos, as if it were somehow his fault, “Why doesn't anyone /remember me/?”

 

“Well,” Carlos said in his most comforting voice, and patted the bed next to him, though Roger didn't take him up on the offer, “Time is weird in Night Vale. Lots of people have missing memories. There are lots of reasons. So many things can affect memory that even if you had them, they wouldn't be very reliable. Sometimes, the things that we think are memories turn out to be completely made up. There have been so many scientists who have studied the way that human recall memory, and it turns out that there are two different brain structures, the amygdala and the hypocampus, that read signals from the peripheral,” he stopped. This was generally the time that people interrupted him, or told him that he needed to do something else, or said something about his hair. Carlos wasn't used to people paying attention to him. But this child was /enraptured/.

 

“Um,” Carlos went on, “My point is, memory is unreliable. So it's not that weird to lose memories. And it's more important to live in the moment, in the now, because the past is gone, and the present is the thing that we actually have control over. It took me a /long/ time to figure that out. I used to always think, about the things I wanted, that I would do them later. And then one day I had an... accident, and I realized that later may not be a thing? Not all the time. There are no guarantees. Not of the past, and not on the future. So the important thing is to strive for happiness in the now. I think that you're worth remembering. But if something happens, and I can't remember you, or you can't remember me, this conversation? This moment, it still happened. And you'll have /so many/ moments. And they're all important. And they're all interesting, and unlikely and significant.”

 

“ROGER!” Earl's voice cut through the house like someone used to shouting over a busy kitchen, “IS HE ALIVE?”

 

“YES!”

 

“THEN BRING HIM IN HERE TO EAT!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody has been so sweet in the comments for this story! ~swoon~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Science musings, chicken, and children

Roger pulled the chair out for Carlos and motioned to it, but the adult paid him no attention at all. His gaze was stuck, with a laser-like focus, to the preschooler who was already seated, holding a fork that looked comically large in his tiny hands. The boy chewed on his thumbnail, giant, dark eyes locked to the kitchen. He was squinting, but he wore an expression of interest, of childish curiosity, not glaring. Carlos recognized that face. It was the face of someone who was _supposed_ to wear glasses, but was, for whatever reason, _not_ wearing them.

 

“Carlos” Roger's voice was still a calculated neutral, just to get his attention, not to convey any additional information. It worked, and Carlos jerked his head to him.

 

“Oh. Thank you!” He took the seat, “You're a sweet kid, Roger. But you don't have to hover over me. It's just a little blood. I made more. I'm fine now, I promise.”

 

The preschooler turned to the sound of Carlos's voice and squinted in his direction. His dark hair bounced when he moved, and Carlos leaned forward to touch it.

 

“This is /fascinating/,” he said as he ran a lock through his fingers, “You've taken on the characteristics of the blood donor.” The child stared at him, still silent, but less unsettling now that it's eyes were neatly divided into pupil, iris, and sclara, exactly as he would assume human eyes /should/ be divided. “I've got a spare pair of glasses somewhere... in my nightstand, I think. But I wonder if... My eyes weren't this bad when I was little. They, like most people with vision problems are like this actually... but yeah, they got worse as I got older. So I don't know if they'll actually fix your vision or not. But we can try!”

 

The child just stared at him.

 

“Right!” Carlos proclaimed, and darted up, and back to the bedroom. Roger sighed and just took the seat next to the child. Carlos returned a few minutes later with a pair of glasses _much_ too big for a four year old. He glanced from the child to the glasses and seemed to realize this problem, and Roger could see the gears turning in the scientist's head when his father walked into the room.

 

Earl rolled his eyes, exasperated. His hands were full. He had plates balanced in an almost Seusian manner, three on his left arm and one in his right hand, filled with some kind of chicken breast that smelled deliciously citrisy and piled high with a vegetable melody. He didn't break stride, setting the plates out around the table as he glared at Carlos.

 

“Sit down,” he commanded, “You need some iron and calcium to build your blood back up. He carefully moved so that Carlos's was the last plate he sat on the table, and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck like an unruly animal, to shove him into the seat, “I told Cecil I would take care of you. Sit down. Eat.” He said this as if he were angry about it, as if it were a burden, and Carlos followed him with his eyes as he disappeared into the kitchen, trying to figure out why these people seemed to dislike him so much.

 

As Earl poured drinks in the kitchen, he snickered. He had prepared this meal, heavy with meat and dairy, a main dish that was juicy, fresh- so fresh that there were still feathers in the yard, since Earl liked to butcher his own meat, sides drenched in cheese and butter. Delicious and nutritionally balanced to get his blood flowing, but he listened to Cecil's show, and he was /fairly/ sure he remembered Cecil saying that Carlos was _vegan_. But he was also _terrified_ of insulting any of the Night Vale natives, as well he _should_ be. He poured two glasses of milk for the children, linked the ice bucket containing the wine under his arm, and picked up three glasses. He shot a glance at the clock over the microwave that blinked at him in modified Sumarain numerals, and smiled. Cecil would be home any minute now.

 

He walked back into the dining/living room and distributed the glasses before returning to the kitchen /again/.

 

“Wow,” Carlos told Roger, “Your father is an amazing cook.”

 

“He's a professional,” Roger explained, nodding, as if that explained everything.

 

Carlos mouthed the word 'professional', the gears in his head spinning. That was the last puzzle piece he needed. _Cooking with Earl Harlan_. Roger Harlan. This was Cecil's friend who had been dragged away into another dimension by the mute children during the scout ceremony. No wonder he was antsy. Carlos didn't really /appreciate/ someone being so apprehensive around the being that he had instantly latched onto and claimed as his offspring, but he understood it. But he could fix this, with a little social interaction. He just had to make Earl feel safe. He was smiling broadly by the time that Earl returned, holding a large bowl of salad and a plate of... rolls? Carlos's eyes widened in shock, but his expression quickly faded into one of appreciation. Maybe the laws had changed while he had been gone; there was no reason to think that wheat was _still_ turning into snakes.

 

The door opened and Cecil called out from the foyer, his beautiful baritone echoed through the house, “Honey! I'm home!”

 

“In here, Cece!” Carlos called.

“Dining room!” Earl had shouted at the same time.

 

Carlos laughed. Earl looked shocked. Cecil sauntered in, throwing off clothes like he was shedding skin. He unhooked his fanny pack and threw it over the back of the chair next to Carlos, shimmied out of a sweater and threw it over _that_ , then leaned down to peck Carlos on the cheek.

 

“Feeling better, babe?” He asked. But without waiting for a response he went around the table and pulled Earl into a hug, “uuuuuuuugh this looks. SO. GOOD.” he proclaimed, “Thank the ancient and terrifying gods for you, Harlan. I couldn't miss a show. That's not a /thing/. It's just not /done/.”

 

“Whatever,” Earl rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Cecil playfully punched him in the arm, and his eyes widened. He was _staring_ at the mute child, staring with such intensity that if he were pyrokinetic, that kid would have gone up in flames.

 

After a few long minutes of this, he finally spoke, in excitement and awe, “Oh. MY GOD!” he proclaimed, and was beside the child in a minute, lifting it up by the waist, still staring, unblinking at it, “It's a tiny Carlos!! Oh my god!! This is the cutest thing I have ever seen! Oh my /god/” his eyes were getting misty and his voice was full of emotion, “Oh my god this is the best thing that has ever happened to me!!”

 

Carlos was confused. Cecil had been /incredibly/ dismissive this morning. He has said that Carlos was being played by the city counsel, that the child was a trap to get free labor out of him. Now he was hugging it and swooning. He was snapped out of his thoughts when Cecil hopped in his lap, still holding the child, who looked as emotionless as ever.

 

“Oh my god, Earl! Come here! Take a picture for me?”

 

Carlos wrapped his arms around Cecil's waist and laid his head on his shoulder, posing. He had learned long ago to stop questioning impromptu photography, as Cecil was incredibly prone to it. Then he hissed and kicked out a little as Koshek clawed into his leg.

 

“Koshek, no, sweety,” he whispered, and it was at that second, with him glaring at the cat, that the flash went off. Earl smirked and handed the phone back to Cecil.

 

Cecil frowned at it, “Take another one, Carlos isn't smiling.”

 

Carlos's entire body tensed.

 

_No, not like that, Carlos isn't smiling. Smile, Carlos. That's how you become happy. You should choose to be happy. Choose to smile. CARLOS. ISN'T. SMILING._

 

He shook his head. Roger leaned under the table and called out to Koshek. Carlos laid his head on Cecil's shoulder, and he _smiled_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> INTERLOPER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Settle in, this is gonna be a long one. I just got a new keyboard and I have access to all the keys. I haven't known freedom like this in a long while. 
> 
> Also, I need a name for Baby Palmer-Scientist so if anybody has any ideas please leave a comment because I am so shitty with names. 
> 
> Also, also, if you don't know what CandleCove is, please go watch CandleCove and then understand that there is no way that isn't the most popular children's show in Night Vale. Also I implied that Abby named her child after the show's main character.

If Carlos disliked meat, he didn't show it, just as Earl had predicted. He did eat methodically, cutting the breast into tiny slices and moving a clockwise pattern around his plate. The repetition and caution annoyed Earl. Cecil was staring at the child, swooning over it.

 

“Oh my god it's got those perfect curls,” he purred.

 

_Cecil's not gonna let that kid get his hair cut_ , Carlos realized and felt a pang of sympathy. He glanced to see Earl glaring at Cecil. He had to find a way to let him know that the child wasn't a threat to him. Roger was scratching Koshek behind the ears, as he had taken to floating beside his spot at the table. Roger snuck him a bite of chicken when he thought his father wasn't watching.

 

“Why is it so pretty now?” Cecil asked in awe.

 

“I really wish,” Carlos took a drink of his wine, “That I had thought to take a blood test before I gave him my blood. I think that he's taken on the characteristics of the blood donor. Possibly copied the dna to better fit in to our environment. If it's the same kind of creature that kidnapped you, Earl, it's possible that they aren't from here, they could be from an alternate dimension. I didn't see any in the desert otherworld, but that isn't the only dimension besides this one. The multiverse theory tells us that there may be an infinite number of-”

 

“Does he always do that?” Earl asked Cecil.

 

“Do what?” Cecil was watching the child eat.

 

“Just go on and on like that with no point to it.” Earl clarified.

 

“Oh! Yes. It's adorable. He's so smart, and he says so many smart things. He doesn't really think about them before he says them.”

 

Carlos turned his eyes back to his plate and became suddenly very interested in making sure every piece of meat was a uniform size. Maybe Earl wasn't afraid of the child. Maybe he just didn't like him. He mumbled an apology and took a long sip of the wine. Cecil refilled his glass for the third or fourth time and he thought that maybe he should say something about that, but he didn't really feel like he should say or do anything that might be construed as controlling. 

 

He watched him down it in one long, slow drink, and watched Earl lift the bottle for another refill before he cautiously settled on, “Hey Cece, did you know that if your drink a  _lot_ of alcohol while you take antibiotics, it can make the effects of the alcohol stronger? You can get dizzy, or unbalanced, or headachey.”

 

“Carlos,” Cecil patiently explained, “We've been over this. Alcohol doesn't cause headaches. Lack of alcohol causes headaches.”

 

“The hangover is mostly caused by dehydration and a loss of important muscle mass that was broken down to counter the effects of the drug. See, you're drinking poison, for fun, so your body thinks that you're dying and tries to purge-”

 

“Cecil's an _adult_ ,” Earl sat the bottle back on the table, “He can drink if he wants.”

 

“Of course he can,” Carlos agreed, “But just... with the child now, maybe we should both try to be... more cognisent than normal tonight. That's all. I just thought... it would be easier... This is really good, Earl. I'm sorry you had to come take care of me.”

 

“Someone had to. You didn't have the sense not to bleed out.” Earl agreed, “And Cecil's really taken with you. I haven't seen him like this in... a /long/ time. A /really/ long time. An unbelievably long time.”

 

“Dad,” Roger tried, concern in his voice.

 

“It could have been centuries,” Earl continued, “Since the last time I saw him this happy. I have no idea. I have no concept of time... Cecil! How old are you?”

 

“Are these /rolls/?” Cecil asked, eyes wide.

 

“Oh! Yes! They're more like a sponge texture. But it's the best I could do with the brown rice flour. You can still taste the buttermilk and cheddar, and that's what's important.” He smiled and shrugged and Roger smiled with him. The Child smiled at Roger, almost as if he were imitating him. “You like 'um, Cece?”

 

“They're /perfect/,” Cecil agreed, “I thought they were...” he lowered his voice, “wheat”.

 

Carlos nodded.

 

Earl leaned in and whispered, “Not tonight. I don't drive with wheat and the kid in the car. It's too dangerous. But if you're interested...” his eyes flicked to Roger and he put a hand up to cover his mouth since he /knew/ any scout worth his salt could read lips, “I know a guy.”

 

Cecil nodded.

 

Carlos bit into a roll. He made cheddar biscuits. Like Red Lobster. And they /tasted/ like cheddar biscuits. Earl may have a bad attitude, but he was an amazing chef, and his kid seemed to love him. Everyone seemed more or less finished, and even the Child was pushing away an empty plate.

 

“Dad,” Roger tugged on his sleeve, “Can we watch TV?”

 

“You have to help me clean up,” Earl said dismissively.

 

“Please,” Roger pleaded, “It's time for _Candle Cove_.”

 

“I'll clean up,” Carlos volunteered, and stood, gathering up the dishes.

 

“I loved that show when I was a kid,” Cecil told Roger, “It was way better back when they used real puppets.”

 

“Abby sure loved it,” Earl reminisced, “She was obsessed with it. She used to make us play pirates with her.”

 

“You were a great skin-taker,” Cecil smiled at him.

 

“Yeah but you had the /voice/. You could mimic the ship perfectly.” Earl countered.

 

“Really?” Roger asked, “Can you do it? Please, Mr. Palmer?”

 

Cecil took a deep breath, a sip of the wine, and in a bellowing voice said, “You HAVE to go INSIDE”.

 

Roger squealed with laughter, “That's just like it! That's so good!”

 

“Cecil has an amazing voice,” Earl said, a hint of... reverence? No, Carlos realized, not reverence, love. Earl's voice had a hint of love. “Yeah, take this little guy and you two go watch your show. I guess we'll clean up.”

 

Carlos watched Roger take the Child by the hand and lead him into the TV. He fiddled with the remote for a second before turning the television on, but didn't seem to be able to get it off the static. Not a blue error screen, but static. Like what you would see in an old UHF station. He was going to say something, but both children settled on the couch and seemed satisfied.

 

“You go with them, Cece. Me and Carlos got this,” Earl stood and squeezed his shoulder, “Besides, I think that legally one of us is supposed to be supervising them at all times. When they're that young. That one hooded figure's been snatching them right outta people's houses.”

 

“I thought it only took babies,” Cecil said more to himself than to Earl. He was already picking up the bottle of wine and his glass so he could join the children.

 

Earl stood, and with practiced efficiency, grabbed everything that Carlos hadn't from the table; silverware, breadbowl, salad bowl, the kids' glasses. Carlos watched him with awe- he had amazing hand-eye coordination and dexterity to stack and carry it all without seeming to think about it. He caught him staring and led him into the kitchen. 

 

“Come on, outsider,” he commanded. Without breaking stride he sat the dishes neatly down and started scraping scraps into the garbage disposal. Carlos wanted to brush off the remark, would have let it go, just like everything else that night, but then Earl spoke again, an innocuous question, but one that sounded pregnant with unspoken information- perhaps a threat. “How was the chicken?”

 

Carlos sat the plates down and let the question dance in his brain for a few minutes before he answered.

 

“Earl,” he asked calmly, “Did you poison me?”

 

“Why would I poison you?” Earl didn't stop working and only glanced at him, as if the thought had never entered his mind.

 

“You don't like me. And,” Carlos cut himself off. Earl didn't like the way he talked. He wasn't going to ramble in front of him.

 

“And what?”

 

“And... you didn't deny it?” Carlos arched an eyebrow.

 

“No,” Earl agreed, “I didn't deny it, because it was true. I don't like you, Carlos. I don't like another pretty, dumb scientist coming here, watching us like we're some kind of spectacle, getting Cecil's hopes up only to die in a few decades of sheer dumbassery because they did something like jump down a bowling alley into a war zone, or walk into an alternate dimension.” He didn't look up as he spoke, but concentrated on rinsing the dishes, but now, he shot his eyes to meet Carlos's, “But none of them have ever trapped him before.”

 

“Trapped him?” Carlos was genuinely confused, “Earl if you think that... wait what? I don't... understand what you're implying.”

 

Earl dried his hands on a dish towel and threw it over his shoulder, “Cecil has been my best friend since /grade school/. I don't even /know/ how long ago that was, but I can tell you that it was before you were ever /thought about/. You don't know Cecil. You don't belong here. And if you ever break his heart, I will /personally/ murder you to death, and then I will resurrect you so that I can kill you a second time. I will invent new types of pain. New senses for you to feel them with. Did you know that Tourniquet serves human flesh?”

 

“I... wasn't planning on breaking his heart?” Carlos was more confused than threatened, “But no, seriously, did you poison me? You never answered me.”

 

“Do you know what he was like when you left him? When he was alone, in the middle of the night, do you know who he drunk dialed?” Earl approached him and though Carlos was significantly taller, he carried himself with the air of someone who was not lying about carving up human flesh to serve to wealthy patrons, “I can't /do/ this anymore, Outsider. We're not /kids/ any more. I have a /child/. I have to go to work. I can't be the one talking Cecil down at 3am trying to convince him that life is worth living, that he can't just let himself be devoured by the sphere or give in to the void. I can't be the one driving him home from the clubs in his tight leather pants and his... I /can't/ do this anymore.”

 

“...you're telling me that Cecil was suicidal?” 

 

Earl wanted so badly to hate him. He wanted so badly to be able to push this man to the side of his brain reserved for Cecil's 'pet' mortals, the scientists that he knew would eventually either kill themselves, or grow old and die, and then it would be them, again. Him and Cecil, NightVale, where time doesn't work and age doesn't matter. But Carlos asked that with such sincerity, with such pain in his eyes that he felt his resolve waiver.

 

“Cecil /is/ suicidal,” he clarified, “Depression doesn't go away just because you're getting laid now. Why do you think he drinks so much? Isolates himself? Becomes /painfully/ obsessed and codependent on... /people/?”

 

“I,” Carlos started, but trailed off, “I'm... not good at people. I've never been good at reading people. I should have picked up on it. I should have tried harder. I'm sorry. I couldn't get through the portals. I tried so hard. I think... I think it was Kevin. I think that Kevin has... the same powers that Cecil has. I think that he... maybe his god too, were holding me there. It wasn't until I cut all ties with him that I was able to come back at all.”

 

“You were exposed to the smiling god,” Earl accused.

 

“No!” Carlos shouted, then lowered his voice to a whisper so he wouldn't arouse suspicion, “No. I wasn't. I built a scientific device to gather the energy that the god put out and shield myself from it, that's how I opened the portals in the first place, remember? So Dana and the angels and the warriors could save everyone from the company picnic.”

 

“Right,” Earl snorted, “Because you're a hero”.

 

“I /never/ said I was a hero,” Carlos countered, “I'm just a scientist. What did you want me to do? /Not/ save Cecil? Not help Night Vale?”

 

Earl crossed his arms and glared, sizing him up. “Why did you come here?”

 

“Night Vale is the most scientifically interesting place in the country. I meant it when I said that. The people are interesting, the landscape is interesting, the flora and fauna are amazingly interesting, there is more paranormal activity in this area than is common, by several z-scores. I came here because I was interested in Night Vale. But my grant expired last year... I'm here now... because I fell in love. I don't have a steady income, I'm out of grant money, and I'm having trouble contacting UWII for an extension because of how weird time is, but I've had a lot of papers published so... that shouldn't be that big of a problem. Lots of people are interested in my research. I mean, I almost unlocked the secret to perpetual energy, since we had it in the desert otherworld, like our phone batteries never ran out, and our appliances worked without plugging them in and a bunch of people got stuck on a roller coaster because we couldn't turn it off. I bet they're still stuck on that roller coaster. Just looping and looping... But I think it has something to do with the smiling god, actually, I think that it gives off energy. I thought that maybe I could drain it and provide electricity to Night Vale at the same time, but this dog the size of a car actually broke my computer, and I didn't back anything up even though I totally could have so I felt like a complete idiot. I had wasted so much time you know? And the thing about time, at least from my perspective, maybe not for people like you and Cecil, is that it's /finite/. I don't have,”

 

“You really will just keep talking for as long as someone will let you, won't you?” 

 

“...sorry.”

 

“Cecil does that. You must love the sound of your own voice.” 

 

“Actually I'm not super used to it yet, see this isn't my voice. Or... not the voice I grew up with. I had to replace my vocal chords because I had eggs in them, you know, throat spiders, so my research indicated that as a preventative measure, before they hatch you can switch your vocal chords and avoid,”

 

“I don't /care/, interloper. No one cares. Everyone gets throat spiders. I /care/ about /Cecil/.”

 

“Can I have the antidote?” Carlos pushed up his glasses and Earl hated how it made his hair bounce around his ears.

 

“I didn't poison you,” Earl turned and started the dishwasher.

 

“Oh,” Carlos fiddled with the sleeve of his lab coat. After a few long minutes he asked, “Are you angry that Cecil is in love with me because he's supposed to be in love with you?”

 

“No,” Earl spoke instantly, almost before Carlos had time to finish his sentence, “I told you. I'm angry that Cecil is in love with you because you are an /idiot/. I got to hear him crying over the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex incident. I got to watch him ride the dragon when you left him,”

 

“Metaphorically or,” Carlos hugged himself with concern.

 

“Yes metaphorically, but it would serve you right,” Earl hissed.

 

“Violet /violated/ him, Earl. You're just trying to be spiteful now.” Carlos ran his hands up and down his arms, “You seem really knowledgeable about what will and won't kill people here...”

 

“mm” Earl made a sound that indicated neither agreement nor disagreement.

 

“Maybe I could stay alive longer if you shared some of that knowledge,” Carlos leaned back against the counter. After a few minutes of Earl staring intently at the dishwasher, he lowered his voice and spoke more gently, “I realize that I'm not as perfect as Cecil says I am. I don't /want/ to die. And I don't want him to hurt. Ever. I want to help. I don't want you to be the only one who worries about him. I'll be the one to drive him home when he's too drunk to stand. I really do love him, Earl. I swear I do. I'm... I guess I'm not good at it. Maybe I don't deserve it, but he chose me. The day I walked into town he called dibs. So... now I have to try... I have to be his perfect Carlos and I... can't. The only time I ever felt like I could was... inside the condo. Everything was clean and perfect and lined up in neat little rows that I could analyze and understand... But people aren't like that. People aren't easy to just dissect and study.”

 

Earl made an iffy gesture with his hand as if to indicate that it was fairly easy to dissect a human so Carlos clarified, “I mean, psychologically”.

 

“I'm not going to be your bodyguard, interloper.” Earl finally stood, “But I can try to teach you enough to keep yourself alive. For /Cecil/.” He took the dish towel off his shoulder and started for the dining room, “You've been lucky so far”.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to parenting, motherfuckers.

Carlos grew more skeptical of Earl's assertion that he wasn't jealous of his relationship as he watched him hug Cecil goodbye. Cecil was shockingly lucid for someone who had drank most of the (now empty) bottle of wine, and warmly asked when he was going to come back and do another cooking segment on the show, while Carlos, astutely aware that he was neither wanted nor needed in the conversation, sat down to hear about the puppet show from the children.

 

After Earl collected a sleepy Roger by scooping him onto his hip, which was decently impressive since he was a middle-schooler rather than a kindergartener, he offered Carlos a nod and a significantly warmer smile than he had expected. Of course, that was probably because he didn't want to be more rude than necessary in front of Cecil.

 

“It was nice of your friend to come take care of me and,” Carlos paused, searching the child's face for any sense of recognition, and he grinned at him, “the kid.”

 

The child reached his arms out as if he wanted to be picked up, so Carlos lifted him in the same manner that Earl had lifted Roger, but it was much less impressive because not only was the child small, he was unnaturally thin. At least he was eating now.

 

“Oh!” Cecil clasped his hands together, “Look how cute he is! He's sleepy.”

 

“Yeah,” Carlos smiled and let his free hand rest on the child's soft black curls, “Let's put him to bed in the guest room. Janice is going to be mad she's going to lose it. We'll have to take him shopping for some bedding and clothes and stuff. Find out what his tastes are.”

 

Cecil walked over and pressed a kiss to the child's forehead, then to Carlos's lips, forcing the former to smile and the latter to chuckle. He turned, carrying the child and Cecil followed close behind him, and opened the door to the guest room for him once they reached it. Carlos carried the child to the bed, decked with the purple bedspread that Janice had selected, and pulled it back so he could lay the child down and pull the blanket over him.

 

“Don't worry, little guy,” Carlos explained, “Tomorrow I'll take you to the lab with me and run some tests to try to figure out what you are and how to help you.”

 

“Oooh!” Cecil exclaimed excitedly, “Maybe after that I can take him to the station!”

 

“I... I wasn't going to show him around, I want to run some very scientific tests, like maybe get a genome and see if he's human? I really suspect that he's taken on my phenotype, at least what we can see that isn't covered by clothing, but I think he has my vision problems too, which makes me think that he may have taken on my /genotype/ as well, somehow via the blood we gave him. And if that's the case, it means that he can absorb genetic information in a way that I've never seen before. He may be able to change his genetics, and thus his form, but I'm not sure if he can do it at will, or only once based on the donor... I'm interested to see how that works. And also guilty. Because now he's going to need glasses... if I had known this would happen I would have gotten someone with better genes to donate blood for him...” he paused and looked at Cecil, “Oh... sensitivity to allergens has shown to have a genetic component. He might be allergic to animal dander. Did you see him sneezing around Koshek?”

 

“Carlos, lovely Carlos, you needn't worry about your genes. Your perfectly imperfect genetics have worked really well for you.” he reached up to slide a hand down Carlos's cheek, “and hush your science. You're going to wake him up.”

 

Carlos looked down at the child, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he slept, and smiled. He didn't know why Cecil had changed his mind so quickly, but he was glad for it. After all, Cecil did tend to fall in love rather fast and once he had, it was difficult to shake that affection. Still, he had been foolish to just follow city council's orders without question. He had gotten into the habit, since his return, of trying his best not to piss off Night Vale, as if the town had a single, sentient mind that could reject him. Because it had, once, and it had taken a year of his life to win it's affections again. How very like and unlike his hometown Cecil was.

 

Night Vale may be fickle, but it was fascinating. He leaned over the bed, watching the curls bounce on the child's head. If his genetics had changed, he would have had to grow new hair, wouldn't he? The straight white-blond hair wouldn't have just turned dark and curly, he would have to grow it out, like a home perm. He let out a soft /hmmm/ sound as he studied it.

 

“What are you making those scientific thinking noises about?” Cecil asked.

 

“I just really want to get him to the lab and get some of his genetic material,” Carlos explained, “I'm so angry at myself that I didn't collect a sample earlier. I won't have anything to compare it to. Do you think that city hall would give me another mute child to use as a base? I mean if they have as many as that letter indicated?”

 

Cecil ignored the question, instead pulling Carlos up by the lapels of his lab coat. He smiled and in a deep, rumbling voice, replied, “I really want to get you to the bedroom and get some of /your/ genetic material.”

 

Carlos grinned, and everything about him was perfect.

 

 

* * *

 

It was difficult, with a new experiment in the house, to get Carlos's mind off all the scientific implications the child's very /existence/ presented. He wasn't really a biologist, but he had a basic understanding of everything related to paranormal activity, and the potential shape-shifter intrigued him. This difficulty should prove a testament to Cecil's ability.

 

Because right now, Carlos was getting his fill of interesting biology. In fact, his interest in anatomy had skyrocketed since the first time he had been intimate with his /incredibly interesting/ lover. He had spent hundreds of hours researching cethlopods, and marine life, and failing that, the incredibly racist and difficult to shift through works of HP Lovecraft, which he devoured, despite his general aversion to reading fiction. He had to read so many scientific journals and peer-reviewed articles that when it came time to wind down, he just didn't get any pleasure from the printed word. But Cecil had agreed to read the short stories to him, and it was easy to get lost in his voice.

 

He was lost in his voice now, which was rising and falling with the angle of the arch of his back, reduced to short phrases that all seemed to begin and end with Carlos's name. Carlos had stripped him of the remainder of his work clothes, so that now the bedroom floor was covered in the undershirt and 'dress pants' (the ones with the neon lavender accents that ran down the side as if he were an extra in Tron, which Carlos absolutely adored), alongside the more boring T-shirt, lab coat, and jeans, that Carlos had tossed aside in a fit of passion. He /had/ asked Cecil to leave his thigh-high socks, the same neon as the racing stripes on his pants, on as he tore away the rest of his clothes. He was sliding his hands up the soft fabric of those socks as he kissed a line down his lover's chest, before he came to the place where the ribbing met flesh, and he gave an affectionate squeeze. He was rewarded with another breathy mention of his name.

 

He had gone from kneeling to almost lying over his lover, who had dug his fingers into his thick hair, with the general goal of removing the band holding it up, but he was having difficulty achieving this seemingly simple goal, as he was growing more and more distracted the lower on his flesh Carlos's lips slid. He finally managed it as Carlos ran his tongue along the spot where his thigh met his torso, and dug in with both hands until his nails were biting into his lover's scalp. He felt Carlos vibrate with a chuckle and arched to help him lift his thighs over his shoulders.

 

“It's actually /more/ difficult for me to do this if you take my hair down,” Carlos explained between kisses, “Because now I'm afraid I'm going to get it in my mouth. Scientifically speaking, it's just keratin, and I know it won't /hurt/ me, but it's a weird texture-”

 

“It's what?” Cecil asked, breathy.

 

“Keratin?” Carlos asked, then hummed happily against Cecil's skin as he tugged at his hair. He grinned, “Keratin is a kind of protein composed of dead cellular matter that's been recycled into something new, something /beautiful/. The differences in color are determined by a chemical called melanin,” he drew the word out, trying desperately to remember anything that sounded vaguely scientific to add, but Cecil's hard cock was pressed up against his cheek as he kissed along his skin, almost-but-not-quite to the base. He felt tentacles sliding down his torso, pinning his arms to Cecil's thighs.

 

“Mmmm,” Cecil agreed, arching up and tugging at Carlos's hair, “Tell me more /science/.”

 

“I'm trying to get a /different/ kind of protein that I might need my mouth for,” Carlos raised himself a little to slide his tongue from the base of the shaft to the place where it became the head, and Cecil cried out his name. “I won't be able to talk,” he explained.

 

He wrapped his lips around the head, and Cecil didn't seem to mind his disobedience. Instead he arched up to meet his eager mouth with a cry of ,“Yes! Perfect!” Carlos hummed in agreement, and the vibrations carried from his warm, wet lips to Cecil's impatient flesh. Carlos felt the tentacles tighten around his body as more slipped down, and spread his legs in anticipation. Cecil was guiding him now, pulling him up and down as he moved, not just his head, but with his entire body, rocking eagerly to the rhythm of Cecil's writhing form. 

 

He was dripping onto the sheets /again/ himself, painfully hard and maddeningly aroused. He moaned in ecstasy around the cock in his throat when a tentacle /finally/ wound itself around his dick, gave it a playful squeeze, and started pumping in time with his thrusts. He spread his legs further apart and managed to wind his arms out of the tangle of limbs to support himself on his hands on knees. The tentacles exploring his body contracted with every involuntary spasm Cecil had, and it encouraged him, especially when he felt the one on the small of his back untangle itself and make it's way down...

 

Cecil shrieked, and Carlos was confused. It wasn't an orgasmic scream, and as the tentacles withdrew from his body and the hands left his hair he knew that something was terribly wrong. Without his glasses all he saw was a vaguely humanoid shape that he could identify as his boyfriend, but he pulled up quickly, wiping his mouth on his forearm to follow the direction he was recoiling from and saw a /second/ vaguely humanoid figure.  _Someone was in their room watching them what the fucking shit fuck fuck fuck fuck_ . His highly intelligent, scientifically trained brain supplied helpfully, and he reached for the blanket that Cecil had already grabbed and together they managed to get it fairly tangled before Cecil threw it over his entire lower body, covering Carlos with it. Carlos squirmed until he was beside, rather than on top of, his boyfriend and reached over him for the glasses that he had haphazardly thrown in the general direction of the nightstand. He felt Cecil hand them to him and wondered why he wasn't saying anything.

 

The blur solidified into the shape of a four-year-old boy holding a pillow, with a look of fright on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's how they traumatized their child the first night they got it.
> 
> Seriously, what's a good name for this kid?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve fucking Carlsburg

Carlos wrapped the comforter around himself like a makeshift toga so that he could leave Cecil the sheet. He willed himself to calm down before he got up and started cleaning up the clothes that they had just kind of thrown around, trying to make it less traumatizing, while he simultaneously prayed to Cecil's dark gods that the child's eyes were bad enough, and the room dark enough, that he hadn't seen /anything/.

 

“Hey kiddo,” Cecil said with barely contained frustration, “Did ya have a bad dream?”

 

The child stared at him.

 

“Carlos why is it doing that?” he asked.

 

Carlos threw the clothes into the closet and dug around until he found a pair of flannel pajama pants and tried to remember which, if any, of Cecil's clothes were for sleeping and which were just... Cecil. It was an impossible distinction. He was pretty sure that Cecil had worn the fleecy godzilla pants he was holding to work before. Not on a casual Friday or anything just... because it was Cecil. Instead, he grabbed the T-shirt he had been wearing before, and Cecil's boxers. He came back to bed and tossed them at his boyfriend while he hid under the blanket and shimmied into the pants. How the hell was Cecil not as devastatingly embarrassed as he was? He was pretty sure that even in Night Vale you should crushed by having your child- /any/ child, walk in on you in the middle of-

 

“/Carlos/,” Cecil asked again, “Why is it just staring at us?”

 

“Well hopefully he's not... traumatized.” Carlos finally responded, tying his pants. He threw the blanket back on the bed and walked around it. The child was still squinting at him, thank god.

 

“Why would it be traumatized?” Cecil asked, and Carlos stared at him, wide eyed, trying to figure out if that question was sincere or if his lover was making fun of him. He looked genuinely confused.

 

“...really?” He asked, after a long pause.

 

“Oh please,” Cecil shrugged the shirt on, “If Janice can stand having that room right next to Abby and,” he huffed, new anger sliding into his voice, “/Steve/, then this kid can stand-”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“You've never stayed over there. Their walls are... thin.”

 

“...o....kay. I'm just... glossing over that.” Carlos bent to pick the child up, “Come on, little guy, let's get you back to bed, ok- ow ow ohhoho that's my hair buddy, that's just /super/ attached to my scalp, please let go, that's not... we don't pull people's hair,” he reached up with his free hand and physically pried the child's hands out of the mass of curls cascading down his back, “That's not nice.”

 

The child clung to his neck and buried his face in his chest.

 

“...I think he's scared to sleep alone,” Carlos turned back to the bed, child's face still buried in his chest, and got a sympathetic look from Cecil.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, “Janice has done that before. Maybe he had a nightmare.”

 

“It's also a new place, with a new body, he can't see as well... we shouldn't have left him alone.” Carlos's face fell. He should have thought of that before. No wonder the poor thing was scared.

 

Cecil fluffed the blankets back out and turned them down, “Come on, you two. I'll tell you a bedtime story.”

 

“That sounds great,” Carlos agreed, as he climbed back in and laid the child between them.

 

* * *

 

The sun rose, as it was want to do, several hours later with a series of shrieks and bangs. Cecil rubbed his eyes, stood, and tried to pull the noise canceling curtains even more closed. Unfortunately, the laws of the universe will only allow curtains to be drawn so much to the center before they begin to bunch up at the sides, so there was nothing for it. He was awake.

 

He turned and looked to the clock. It was 6:00 in the goddamn morning. There was an /am/ now. That was completely unacceptable and he /was/ going to bring it up at the next town meeting. In the faint red light given off by the clock, he could see the child squirm. It had been curled into his back, with Carlos's arm thrown over both of them, but now that Cecil was gone, it turned and buried it's tiny face into Carlos's chest.

 

That was far too cute and he had to capture it immediately. He creeped as silently as he could to the nightstand and picked up his phone. The flash lit up the room and still, neither of them stirred. He smiled, and set the picture to his background. Adorable tiny Carlos. He picked up the bottle of antibiotics that Carlos had left on the nightstand and carried them into the bathroom. He flicked the light on and looked at the label for the first time. Maybe Carlos was onto something. After all, he had been praying to the gods, bleeding over the bloodstone circle, and doing all the proper chants for well over a year, and none of that seemed to have cured him. After all, what could it possibly do, kill him? He smirked. Death wasn't a /thing/, not really. Not for him. He had /tried/.

 

He turned the bottle and looked at the dosage instructions. He had just been taking them at meals, like Carlos said. Meals.. he should probably feed that child. Carlos's child. /Their/ child. He swooned. He popped the cap of the bottle and poured the contents into his mouth, and washed them down with a drink of water before he went about his morning routine, brushing his teeth, styling his hair, after all, he couldn't get back to sleep after that godawful sunrise.

 

* * *

 

Carlos's alarm was blaring for a good two or three minutes before he finally acknowledged it. That was... odd. He had been waking up on his own before the alarm for nearly a month. He must have been completely worn out after yesterday's emotional roller coaster. After adopting a child, getting chewed out by what he was /fairly/ sure was his lover's ex, and then being scared half to death he /just/ didn't feel like mustering up the energy to turn the thing off. He rolled over to beg Cecil to do it instead, since he could actually see it and wouldn't be flailing his arm blindly in the general direction of the sound, but Cecil wasn't there. Neither was their child. He groaned, loudly, lamenting the cold, harsh reality that he was no longer asleep.

 

His blind flailing did manage to eventually turn the alarm off, or maybe just the snooze, but either way the annoying sound stopped. He groped the nightstand for his glasses, checked to make sure it /was/ actually off, and not just asleep, and stood. He had to go back to work today and he was /not/ looking forward to it. He had a lot of samples from the Desert Otherworld, and he had told his team everything he could remember about the perpetual energy experiment, and Rochelle really wanted to go to the Desert Otherworld to try to get it restarted, but Carlos had firmly reminded his entire team that /no one/ was to go near the dog park. /No one/ was to touch the house that doesn't exist, because it /didn't exist/. It was like Cecil said. Some things were better off not being questioned. Most things, actually.

 

He missed Doug and Aleshia, but they were so difficult to take care of and... he just couldn't see Kevin again. He had no idea how Kevin had taken the news that he was leaving and wasn't coming back. He hadn't even really packed, he had been too afraid that with his all-seeing eye he would have noticed, would have found some other way to trap him. He had made up his mind, before he sat down to write the letter, but if he hadn't, the blood-splattered station would have sent him over the top. So... much... blood.

 

He was still pulling his hair back as he walked into the living/dining room, drawn there by the delicious scent of Cecil's coffee. He and the child were sitting at the table eating frosted flakey-os, which, Cecil added more sugar to. Carlos yawned and sat beside Cecil.

 

“Good morning, starshine,” Cecil smiled, “The Earth says 'hello'.”

 

“Good morning, babe,” Carlos leaned into him, too tired to question that quote, though he knew that he had heard it somewhere before. He laid his head on Cecil's shoulder, “I swear I will eventually get up and get a cup of that. It smells,” he hummed, and inhaled the scent of his shirt, which Cecil was still wearing, “so good,”.

 

Cecil turned and kissed his forehead and Carlos heard someone laugh. It was high-pitched, cute, and childish. Far cuter than he had expected. His eyes shot open and he stared at the child, who had his eyes closed, giggling at their adorable displays of affection. Eyes closed... eyes... He opened his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Carlos, and Carlos sat up. The child had the same deep brown, gorgeous eyes that Carlos did, but there were three of them now.

 

“He has three eyes,” Carlos observed.

 

Cecil stood, “I'll get you some coffee.”

 

“Why does he have three eyes Cecil?” 

 

“Why do /you/ have three eyes?” Cecil replied, snarkily.

 

“I /don't/. Which is why this is /odd/.” Carlos's brain tried to remember when it had reached the point where /that/ was all it considered odd about this situation, but he quieted it, “Cecil did you give him blood?”

 

“...no?”

 

“Cecil!”

 

“...he was hungry! And also... why should you be the only one? Shouldn't we /both/ donate genetics if he's going to absorb them? See? I listen. I listen to your science.” Cecil, true to his word, was calmly pouring Carlos a cup of coffee.

 

Carlos steadied his voice. He was not going to get angry. He was not going to fight in front of their child.

 

“I just wish you had waited until you finished your antibiotics. Of course I want him to have everything we can give him. Both of us. But not lime disease. ...or any disease.” he patiently explained, “Also I really wish I had gotten a chance to study him between stages.”

 

“I finished the antibiotics,” Cecil sat the coffee down next to his boyfriend.

 

“No, sweety, you have to finish the whole bottle. Just because you're feeling better doesn't mean that you can stop taking them. You have to finish the pack out. Lots of people make that mistake. They think that all the bacteria is dead just because they feel better-”

 

“No, silly, I finished the bottle.” Cecil pressed a kiss to Carlos's temple.

 

“...Cecil,” he asked, slowly, choosing his words carefully, “Did you take an entire bottle of pills?”

 

“Yes. I went ahead and finished them so I could give the kid my blood.” Cecil explained, pouring cereal into a bowl for Carlos.

 

“Ok,” Carlos said, more to himself than to Cecil, “Ok you should... eat some yogurt? Like a lot of yogurt? For me? Today?”

 

“Is that some kind of weird outsider mating ritual?” Cecil asked, intrigued.

 

“Sure, why not.” Carlos sighed, “When we have children we get lots of yogurt... that's a thing. That people do. People must do that. Somewhere.”

 

“Oooh!” Cecil exclaimed, “We can go out to the White Sands and get it frozen!”

 

“Oh, yeah, actually,” Carlos perked up and took a sip of the coffee, “What's their new flavor this week?”

 

“Unconditional love,” Cecil replied.

 

“Wow, that's... thematically convenient.” Carlos stared at the child, “So has he taken on any more of your characteristics?” Then, to the child, “Are you feeling alright?”

 

The child nodded.

 

“You laughed,” Carlos went on, “It's the first sound I've heard you make. You have a beautiful voice. Like your daddy.”

 

Cecil swooned, and mouthed 'I'm a daddy' to himself. His phone rang and he scooped it up.

 

“Ugh,” he made a face, “I cannot deal with him this early in the morning. I can't. But it might be Janice. Uuuuuugh. Oh my /god/ why must you exist /Steve Carlsburg/!? Why must you make every conversation an ordeal?”

 

“You want me to talk to him?” Carlos asked, reaching for the phone, but it scuttled to Cecil's hand.

 

“Ugh, no. You two just eat. I'll deal with this.” Cecil stood and walked around the table, just to have something to do with the energy that the anger caused by Steve's existence provided. He answered with an audible beep, “What do you /want/, Steve? It is 8 in the morning. In. The. Morning.”

 

“Cecil!” Steve's voice was so loud and happy that Carlos could hear him from the table, “Brother! I was taking Janice to school, she missed the bus this morning-”

 

“Of course,” Cecil could feel his blood starting to boil, “Of course you couldn't put a child on a school bus. Of course /that/ task was /over your head/. Steve I am trying to have breakfast with /my/ family, before Carlos has to go to work. What do you /want/?”

 

“Oh! That's what I wanted to talk to you about,” Steve replied warmly, “See I checked my facebook this morning and I saw your picture! Congratulations! I didn't know you guys had a kid! Me and Abby are gonna throw you a baby shower!”

 

“No, NO. NO STEVE CARLSBURG YOU WILL NOT DO THAT!” Cecil shouted into the phone so loudly it recoiled, “YOU WILL NOT BRING YOUR AWFUL FOOD AND YOUR TACKY TASTE AND YOUR AWFUL SELF INTO MY HOME FOR MY CHILD THAT WILL NOT BE HAPPENING.”

 

Carlos stood and walked over, “Cece.” he whispered, “Cece, baby, you're working yourself up. Can I have the phone?”

 

Cecil whirled on him, “ /STEVE CARLSBURG/” he hissed, “Wants to give us a /baby shower/.”

 

“Let me talk to him?” Carlos implored, and Cecil reluctantly handed him the phone.

 

“Hey Steve,” Carlos rubbed at his eyes under his glasses, “What's going on?”

 

“Well I saw Cecil's post about your adoption, and I thought, we have so many of Janice's old things just lying around, and Cecil's /so good/ with kids, Janice just loves him,”

 

“Yeah,” Carlos smiled softly, thinking about Cecil's beautiful voice lulling them to sleep with old tales straight out of a Grim nightmare, “He is.”

 

“So Abby's gonna call Dana and Old woman Josie, and I'm going to get up with John Peters, you know, the farmer? Maybe Larry Leroy out on the edge of town? And of course everybody down at the station. Oh, and the school board will want to come, I'll ask the Glow Cloud ALL HAIL,”

 

“All hail,” Carlos mumbled, walked back to the table, and took another drink of his coffee.

 

“And we'll just have a nice little party. If Cecil doesn't want to have it at the house, we can do it picnic style over at Grove Park. Isn't that where you guys went on your first date? Ooooh! Or the Arby's!”

 

“They probably have more room,” Carlos agreed, “But didn't you and Abby just get back from the Arby's? You don't want to go again so soon. Look, Steve, you really don't have to do this. It's nice of you, but I know Cecil can be a handful when you two get together.” He smiled at Cecil and started pacing again. When he had reached the other end of the room he lowered his voice and advised in a whisper, “Drop it for now, then have Janice ask him about it.”

 

“Wow,” Steve chirped, “You are smart. I see why he likes ya”.

 

“Thanks, Steve.” Carlos smiled as he started walking back, “But I really do have to go. I have to get ready for work.”

 

“Yeah? Have fun out there! Remember, if you see something, /say nothing/. They're on to you. I can tell. I know what's what. They're on to your game, scientist.”

 

“Um... alright then,” Carlos spun his hand at Cecil to indicate that Steve /wouldn't get off the phone/ with his nonsense, “Yeah. I'm gonna go, Steve.”

 

“Oh, and Carlos, watch out. I mean it. I saw something in the stars last night. You really need to be vigilant today. I mean, we need to be vigilant every day, but especially today.”

 

“Ok, Steve. I've got to go.” Carlos agreed.

 

“Wait! It will involve a car,” Steve said in a dreamy voice.

 

“Steve, are you reading the stars right now? It's... the sun is out. I've gotta go. I need to get ready for work.” Carlos tried again.

 

“When you least expect it,” Steve continued.

 

Cecil grabbed the phone, “WE ARE HAVING BREAKFAST STEVE CARLSBURG! GOODBYE.” and pounded the button to end the call.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby's first words!! Also, tiny Cecilos child is spoiled by scientists. All the scientists. Including Carlos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have all been so sweet! No angst or fighting or weird prophecies in this episode, just fluffy goodness. NEW NIGHT VALE TOMORROW YES!!

“Well listeners,” Cecil continued, picking up the ad copy and setting down his coffee, “It's back-to-school time, and you know what that means. The Night Vale school board will be holding it's annual back-to-school fund-raising drive, to sponsor this year's after school clubs and activities, labor day weekend at the Night Vale Elementary School. I'm told that there will be a secret auction, a bake sell, a spaghetti dinner, a not-so-secret auction, speeches from several prominent Night Vale citizens including the new management of StrexCorp Synergists, Inc, who will be taking over the former Marcus Vansen Training Program,” he paused as his phone buzzed.

 

“Oooh, listeners,” he squealed, “I just received a text from my boyfriend Carlos, who is, as we speak, doing some important scientific research on the strange mute children that city hall uses as messengers. See, it seems that there are even more of these children than usual, and as such, City Hall has taken to sending them to the populace at large, assuming, of course, that the citizens meet the /strict/ parenting criteria set forth by the vague, yet menacing government agency.”

 

He took another drink as he studied the text, which simply read, “Call me during the weather, I think I found something out, xoxo” followed by an emoji of DNA double helix, splitting down the middle as if it were about to reproduce.

 

“I'm going to call him back,” Cecil spoke into the microphone, “He's just made an important scientific breakthrough, and it could very well benefit the entire town- nay, the entire world.”

 

In his lab, Carlos sighed. He was holding the child on his lap, said child had it's face pressed to a microscope, watching it's own blood dance under a slide. Every other scientist had been crowded around him since he walked through the door, as if they had never seen a child before, and as a result, he had gotten /very little/ done. It was, “Oh how cute!” this and “he has your eyes!” that and “Does he have tentacles?” and “I just want to hug him” and Carlos would have been past his breaking point if he weren't so proud of what he was sure, now, looking at both the blood, and the paternal bond he had formed, was his offspring.

 

He hit the speakerphone button on the first ring, “Hey, Cece.”

 

“Carloooooos,” Cecil sang into the phone, holding it close to the mic, “I see that you've made an important /scientific/ discovery.”

 

“Um,” Carlos paused, “Actually, it's not... Well, it is scientific, because /everything/ is scientific. Science is nothing more than the process by which we pretend, that is, by which we /try/ to understand the world around us. But this discovery, in particular, might be more important to us, as individuals, than to the world as a whole... that is... well. Listen for yourself.”

 

Cecil listened, and heard the squeak of the stool as Carlos leaned back, the fumbling as he picked up the phone, and then an adorable, childish voice speak. “Daddy?”

 

Cecil let out a sound that was indescribable. He quickly followed up with, “Ohmygods ohmygods ohmygods he /said his first words/”.

 

“Well, more than that,” Carlos cut in, “He actually started speaking in complete sentences, completely out of the blue, shortly after we got to the lab this morning. Casey, tell your daddy what we've been doing today.”

 

“Casey?” Cecil asked.

 

“That's his name. I asked and that's what he told me.”

 

“We've been doing science!” Casey proudly proclaimed, “And the scientists are really nice. They gave me pizza. And ice cream.”

 

“...yeah,” Carlos's voice was slightly quieter, as if he had leaned back to glare at someone else, then perked up again, “Anyway, it turns out that Casey is like you. I mean, he's /obviously/ like you, because he has your DNA, but he's like you in the fact that he's a chimera. Which, since we're /on the radio/, I guess I should explain, is a scientific term for someone with more than one set of DNA. Some of Cecil's cells, for example, have a nucleus full of human DNA, while other cells have a nucleus full of shogoth dna. His mitochondrial DNA is always human. Casey, on the other hand, has some cells with Shogoth dna, some with Cecil's human DNA, and some with my human DNA. So that's... neat.”

 

“I'm /very/ scientifically interesting,” Casey bragged, taking great care in pronouncing the word 'scientifically'.

 

“You're one of the most scientifically interesting people I've ever met,” Carlos agreed, and kissed him on the top of the head. Then, to Cecil, he continued, “Unfortunately, that doesn't give me any indication of what he, or the other strange, mute children, are /before/ they're given genetic material to work with. I put in a request to the City Counsel, to see if they'll allow me to take a blood sample from one of the children that they still have, but I haven't gotten a response yet.”

 

“I don't want another child,” Casey said matter-of-factly.

 

“Well that isn't very nice,” Cecil scolded, “Siblings can be wonderful, Casey. My sister Abby is,” he paused, searching for the right word. Neglectful? Romantically inept? Annoying? The truth was, he hadn't really talked to Abby any more that was strictly necessary in a long time, and only then when he was picking up Janice. … He and Abby should really make a point of spending some quality time together soon. “Nice.”

 

“Just to get a sample from, Cecil,” Carlos explained, “Not to keep.”

 

“Good,” Casey added, and squealed, “Papa!” Cecil couldn't see it, but Carlos had goosed him.

 

“Silly boy,” Cecil giggled with him.

 

“I'm not a boy,” Casey explained calmly.

 

“I thought you said you were a boy today?” Carlos asked.

 

“...um. Yes!” Casey agreed, “I am. /Today/.”

 

“We should let daddy get back to work, ok sweety?” Carlos tried to take the phone back from him.

 

“Kay,” Casey agreed, “Are we still going to get yogurt when we see daddy again?”

 

“We're gonna get frozen yogurt,” Carlos explained, “It's like ice cream.”

 

“Didn't he already have ice cream?” Cecil asked, “You're not... supposed to give kids /too much/ ice cream, right?”

 

There was silence for a full minute before Carlos finally answered, “Well no... but...”

 

“Ice cream!” Casey added, and began to chant, “ice cream, ice cream, ice cream, ice cream”.

 

“Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream,” Carlos joined.

 

Cecil sighed, “You're a terrible example for our listeners, both of you.”

 

“I love you too,” Carlos answered, “See you after work, sweety.”

 

Cecil laughed, “Goodbye Carlos. Goodbye little Casey.”

 

“By-ye, daddy!” Came the high-pitched giggle.

 

“So,” Cecil continued, into the mic, “If anyone has any strange, mute children, /before/ you give them any blood, it would be great if you could stop by the lab over across the road from Big Rico's. The scientists are looking for donations. And now, the weather.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S0rry ab0ut this chapter. I had t0. I HAD t0. I listened t0 the latest epis0de and I cried like a bitch. This is the aftermath 0f a really sad br0adcast.

When Carlos pulled into the White Sands, there was nowhere left to park. It seemed as if the entire town had turned out, in the middle of the night, to get ice cream. That was odd. There were a half-dozen ice cream themed restaurants in Night Vale, and the Moonlight had ice cream and milkshakes. He parked on the street and pulled out his phone as Casey unbuckled.

 

“Hold on a sec, kiddo,” Carlos instructed, “Let me call Daddy first and see if he doesn't want to go to the food court in the mall or the Moonlight or something instead. It's pretty crowded here.”

 

“But you said we would get ice cream!” Casey protested, hand already on the door.

 

“We will!” Carlos promised, “It's just /really/ crowded.”

 

“Hey!” Casey bounced in his seat, “It's Roger!” He threw the door open, “HI ROGER! ROGER! ROGER!”

 

Carlos got Cecil's voicemail, “Hey babe, I don't know what's going on, but this place is /crowded/. Maybe we should go somewhere else? Call me back when you get this or we'll just wait on you. Maybe you're driving? You shouldn't answer if you're driving. Anyway, I'll talk to you in a sec.”

 

Roger had followed the sound of Casey's voice, and Earl had followed him, still in his chef's coat, the top few buttons undone, looking haggard. He must have just gotten off work to. He glared at Carlos, and Carlos wasn't sure how to feel about that.

 

“Hello,” he finally said.

 

“What a night, huh?” Earl asked, as he watched Casey chattering away at his son.

 

“Uh, yeah, I guess?” Carlos put on his best smile.

 

“Poor bastard.”

 

“Who?” Carlos figured he may as well get out of the car, if he were going to have a conversation, and walked around to close Casey's door.

 

“Both? I guess?” Earl rubbed his eyelids, “Poor Cece. Poor little Strex puppet.”

 

“What, uh... what are you talking about?” Carlos leaned against the hood of his Prius as Roger bent to stare into Casey's third eye.

 

“Didn't you listen to the radio? After you hung up?” Earl's tone was cold. Accusatory.

 

“Oh. No, I mean, I had it on in the background, but we had to go into this decon unit because we had some trouble with some errant Shogoth dna; that stuff multiplies /fast/ if you don't watch it, even in the petri dish it'll try to multiply. I think it has something to do with Cecil's healing ability? Maybe? I'm not sure. I'm not really a biologist, but my friend Rochelle /is/ a biologist, and /she/ thinks-”

 

“So you didn't hear your little friend on the radio?” Earl interrupted.

 

“What little friend?” Carlos arched an eyebrow.

 

“Kevin.”

 

Carlos's eyes widened, “Kevin was on the radio? On Cecil's show?”

 

“You should really listen to Cecil's show, Outsider,” Earl crossed his arms, “Would it kill you to be /supportive/?”

 

“I was being /decontaminated/ because I was infiltrated by rapidly growing Shogoth stem cells!” Carlos pleaded.

 

“Yeah I'm sure that's the first time you've ever gotten some errant chimera dna on you somewhere,” Earl rolled his eyes. Then, his shoulders slumped and he added, “You really didn't hear it?”

 

Carlos shook his head.

 

Earl chewed his bottom lip.

 

“There was some kind of temporal distortion and the wires got crossed or something,” Earl lowered his voice and leaned in, speaking in rushed, hushed tones, “He talked to Kevin. Kevin from /before/. Kevin when he was still his untouched double with a community radio show, before... the buyout. Before he was attacked.”

 

“Oh,” Carlos's face fell, “Yeah he... He's not... super stable.”

 

“He sounded so much like Cece,” Earl let one palm rest against the hood of the Prius and leaned in, still whispering, emotion dripping from his voice.

 

“He does still... sometimes,” Carlos admitted, “I mean... they're doubles, right? That whole... sandstorm, mirror town thing? But then that god...”

 

“We saw it coming,” Earl cut him off again, “We saw what it did to Desert Bluffs, we had a template and we knew what we were up against. They didn't. They didn't know how to fight or /what/ they were fighting. The way the poor bastard talked, he thought that they were just up against a /business/. He didn't /know/, scientist. He didn't /know/. And now... now Cecil knows,” he stopped, chewing his lip again.

 

“There but for the grace of god go I” Carlos finished for him.

 

Earl stared at him for a second. Then nodded, “Yeah. Something like that. It messed him up.”

 

“I bet.” Carlos stared at the blank screen of his phone, “Hey can... will you come with me to get the kids some ice cream? That way when Cecil gets here we can just leave. He'll want to go home, have a drink, talk about this tonight. I don't want to keep him out but I promised Casey...”

 

“You know his name?”

 

“Huh?” Carlos looked up from the phone. Earl had something strange in his eyes. Something bordering on... respect? “Yeah. I asked him.”

 

“It was that easy?” 

 

“Yeah?” Carlos arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“And that difficult...”

 

“Ok.” Carlos looked back to the phone, willing Cecil to either show up or call. When he looked back up, someone was slapping Earl in the back.

 

“What's up, Harlan?” the voice was powerful, feminine, a Palmer.

 

“Hey, Abby,” Carlos waved, “You been listening to the radio?”

 

She made the same affirmative hum that Cecil did when he didn't particularly want to talk about something, and immediately changed the subject, “I wanted to see my nephew.”

 

“Oh!” Carlos pushed himself off the car and tapped Casey on the head.

 

He spun around. “Papa!” He complained loudly, “I want ice cream!”

 

“This is your aunt Abby,” Carlos introduced, and Roger turned his face away and suddenly became very interested in his sash. Earl followed the direction he had pointedly looked away from and saw Steve trying to catch up with Janice, who had slid from the van and run off without him. He was trying to roll the ramp up, get the back closed, lock the doors, and keep his eyes on her all at the same time. He wasn't doing a very good job. Or... he didn't seem to be. But Steve had a way of watching things without looking like he was watching things.

 

Janice made it to their little group in a flash, and squealed. “Oh my god he looks so /cute/!”

 

Roger noticed that one of his badges was coming off. Nothing for it. He'd have to fix it. Somewhere else. Where he couldn't make a fool of himself. Somewhere like back in his dad's car. He turned on his heel to leave but stopped as Cecil leaped from his truck right in front of him. Cecil ran a hand absentmindedly through Roger's hair, walked up to Carlos, shoved him back against the side of the car, and buried his face in his chest. Carlos awkwardly wrapped his arms around him and slid his hands up and down his back.

 

“Hey kids!” Steve clapped his hands as he finally caught up with the group, “Why don't we all go on inside and get a table?”

 

“And I /just/ got my 'aceing interrogation badge'”Janice continued, then motioned up at Steve, “And this is my step-dad, Steve! He'd be your uncle!”

 

“Can I see it?” Casey asked, excited.

 

Janice took off her sash and pointed out the new badge as Casey's eyes lit up. Roger shuffled his feet.

 

“Uncle,” Steve thought out loud, “Uncle-in-law? Step-uncle?”

 

“Oh my /god/, Steve Carlsburg” Cecil muffled into Carlos's shirt.

 

“Hey Steve, can you take Roger in with you? Make sure he eats real food before dessert?” Earl asked, then darted his eyes right back to Cecil.

 

“Sure thing, Chief!” Steve replied happily, and took hold of Janice's chair so she couldn't escape again. Casey was marveling at the thing, so Janice pulled him into her lap. “Come on, champ!” Steve added, and offered a hand to Roger, then realized that he didn't have that many hands and offered, “Hey Janice? Hold on to Roge while we cross the street?”

 

“I'm fi-ine!” Roger insisted, and his voice cracked in the middle of the statement. He looked at his sash again.

 

“Ok, well,” Steve smiled, “Let's go.”

 

He took the gaggle of children across the road to the overcrowded parking lot, and into the last remaining Ice Cream restaurant in Night Vale.

 

“You ok, Cece?” Carlos asked when he was sure that their child was out of earshot.

 

“It was /horrible/ Carlos!” Cecil replied, digging his hands into the fabric of his shirt and leaving Abby and Earl to exchange awkward glances, “He /really/ believed he could... he was so... we're the /same/, Carlos! It could have been /me/. The smiling god could have chosen /me/. I don't know why he picked Desert Bluffs, why he picked Kevin, but he's my /double/. We're the /same/. He's not... he's not /supposed/ to be...”

 

“I know, sweety...” Carlos rubbed soothing circles into his back.

 

“He could be here!” Cecil went on, “With you! Or someone very like you... with a lover and a family and friends... and instead he's out there, alone, drenched in blood and pain with /nothing/. And why? Random chance... it wasn't /fate/. It wasn't prophecy. It wasn't because he was weak.”

 

“Cecil,” Earl's voice was firm, “I know that your whole 'double being brainwashed by an evil god' thing has messed you up, but I'm going to need you to get your shit together.” he crossed his arms and glared as Cecil finally looked up from Carlos's chest. “You don't have the luxury of breaking down in a parking lot anymore,” he went on, “Casey needs you to be strong for him. You need to get your shit together, and you need to push those emotions back, and you can cry about it after he goes to sleep, but right now, you need to suck it up, you need to put on a brave face, and you need to go eat some shitty frozen, flash fried chicken strips and a milk shake”.

 

“Can I put vodka in the milkshake?” Cecil wiped his eyes on Carlos's shirt.

 

Earl's face softened, “Yeah you can put vodka in the milkshake. But you have to do it where none of the kids see you.”

 

“Will you stay with us tonight?” Cecil asked and Carlos's eyes grew wide. What the... what?

 

“...I,” Earl looked at Carlos, and Carlos nodded at him, “Yeah. Yeah I'll stay. Roger doesn't have school yet and he'd probably like a sleep-over.”

 

Abby slapped Earl's shoulder again and whispered, “Good job, Harlan.”

 

Earl always was the only one who was ever able to give Cecil the tough love he needed without getting any kind of punishment from Cecil's powers. Their friendship was stronger than his voice, had lasted longer, even. Earl had been with Cecil far longer than the voice, or the tentacles, or the covered mirrors. He darted his eyes up to meet Abby's, and rubbed the back of his neck. She had been there for him, too. She was the only one in his family who hadn't left, who hadn't feared the prophecy.

 

“Yeah, well...” he muttered, “We better go get dinner. Might be a bit of a wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My p00r little Kevy. Did any0ne else cry? S0rry this chapter was just kind 0f an aside but I had t0 get that 0ff my chest. This next chapter might delve int0 s0me Ceearl0s accidentally because we all kn0w Cecil needs t0 be c0mf0rted after all that. Uuugh that epis0de was s0 g00d. I s0 rarely get em0ti0nal 0ver media but I've been gushing 0ver this epis0de. They F0RCED Cecil t0 deal with the fact that Kevin isn't a bad pers0n; he's Cecil's d0uble, they're the same. If the smiling g0d had ch0sen Night Vale 0ver Desert Bluffs, it w0uld have been Cecil. There w0uld have been n0 reas0n f0r the "Kill y0ur d0uble" bullshit. It w0uld have just been hanging 0ut and playing with cats and listening t0 their intern tapes and laughing ab0ut w0rkplace st0ries and drinking c0ffee and g0ssiping ab0ut l0vers and instead Kevin was bent 0ver the knee 0f a smiling g0d and br0ken. And then the entire fand0m cried al0ngside Cecil. Uuuuugh.
> 
> S0 I'm s0rry that this chapter is kind 0f an aside but I had t0 get these feelings 0ut.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back to another slice of life scene. Baby's first bath, tipsy Cecil, and overanylsing Carlos

Carlos was pretty sure that Casey had addictive personality disorder, in exactly the same way that he was pretty sure that Cecil had addictive personality disorder, but he wasn't a psychiatrist. He did really wish that he knew a good psychiatrist, because Cecil was a little past the point of tipsy, and Casey was bouncing on sugar high that might, if left unchecked, dissolve into a full-blown binge eating disorder with age. He was carrying Casey on his hip (and Casey bounced in an overexagerated leap with every step he took, throwing his shoulders back like he was trying to escape Carlos's grip) when Cecil turned to head for his truck.

 

“No, Cece,” Carlos sighed, braced Casey with one arm, and grabbed Cecil's forearm with the other to steer him back towards his Prius, “Let me drive. Abby said she'd bring the truck home.”

 

“I WANNA DRIVE,” Casey shrieked, full of energy.

 

“No, Casey,” Carlos spoke in the exact same cadence. He opened the passenger side door and managed to get Cecil inside, though he curled up against the console and pouted, as if he resented Carlos's denial of his plan to drive drunk, and Carlos, growing increasingly frustrated, cringed when Casey yanked on his ponytail, which he /shouldn't even have/ because it was thick and heavy and hot and horrible and- he had to calm down.

 

“Please don't pull Papa's hair,” he calmly reached up to pry Casey's fingers out of his curls.

 

“I WANNA SIT IN THE FRONT!” Casey screamed.

 

“Please stop shouting,” Carlos begged. That was the only word for it. He was begging a preschool aged child because he had no idea how else to make it stop and he was terrified that if he kept screaming, drunken Cecil might react, either by screaming /at/ the child, or screaming /with/ the child, and he really didn't want to deal with either.

 

“I RODE IN THE FRONT FROM THE LAB!” Casey countered.

 

“Yes,” Carlos explained, “And now it's daddy's turn.”

 

“Daddy can drive his own car if he wants to be in the front!”

 

“No, he can't.” Carlos opened the back and tried to squeeze the squirming child inside.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Yeah,” Cecil crossed his arms and glared, “Why not, Carlos.”

 

“Cece,” Carlo's face fell, and upon seeing the effect it had on him, Cecil softened.

 

Instead of offering a rebuttal, he spoke to the child in the backseat. “Buckle up.” And when Carlos climbed into the driver's seat he offered a quiet, weak, “I'm sorry,” and a squeeze of his hand.

 

Carlos squeezed back and leaned in to give him a sweet, chaste kiss, “I just don't want you to get hurt.”

 

“I know.”

 

 

The rest of the ride was uneventful. It consisted mostly of Cecil asking Casey questions about his time in the science lab, and being extremely interested in his replies, though whether this enthusiasm was real or feigned, it was difficult to tell. His speech was slightly slurred, and it was obvious to Carlos that he may or may not have been genuinely interested, but he was only half paying attention. He couldn't focus. His mind was still on Kevin. Carlos didn't want to think about Kevin. At all.

 

Earl's car was parked in their driveway as Carlos pulled up to the building. Their apartment was part of a series of what were basically houses, all scrunched together, and they weren't given a lot of individual room to park, so Carlos was forced to pull onto the grass, which voiced it's displeasure /loudly/. He didn't feel like listening to it. Carlos was /really/ anxious about being forced to think about Kevin. But he found himself thinking about Kevin anyway. He found himself thinking about Kevin for so long, that by the time he was fully in the moment again, Cecil had already gotten Casey out of the backseat, and was holding him in a way that looked particularly precarious, because he was still swaying on his feet a little.

 

Carlos was afraid to bring it up, and instead locked the car, and moved on to unlock the door to the apartment. He let everyone inside, and Earl knelled to speak quietly to his son, as if he were sharing a secret. Cecil let his squirming child down, and headed into the kitchen. Casey ran to Koshek, who was hovering just above the back of the couch, and scooped him up into a hug. Then he ran back to Roger holding the cat. Earl arched an eyebrow at him and stood, apparently finished delivering whatever message he had to deliver.

 

“It's getting pretty late,” he announced, “You two should go get ready for bed.”

 

“Oh,” Carlos finally stepped inside and closed the door, “Do you need a toothbrush or pajamas or-”

 

“I have my scout kit,” Roger cut him off, and though he didn't seem to have anything at all, Carlos didn't question him. Instead, he scooped Casey up, cat and all, and carried him off to the bathroom, to teach him how to brush his teeth. He'd have to use one of the flimsy spare toothbrushes he and Cecil kept for guests. They wouldn't hold up over time. And he didn't have any sleep clothes. He didn't have any clothes at all. He was wearing the same outfit that the city counsel had sent him over in.

 

“Babe?” Carlos shouted, putting toothpaste on the brush for Casey, “Can you grab Case something to sleep in? One of my shirts or something?”

 

“Sure thing!” Cecil responded with a forced cheeriness that did /not/ suit him and Carlos stopped what he was doing and willed himself to remember that it was faked out of obligation to their child, and not to some burning deity that caused the earth beneath them to quake. He recovered quickly and went back to explaining to Casey proper dental hygiene.

 

Cecil walked into the room with a fake smile plastered on his face, holding one of Carlos's shirts, a red t-shirt that read, “this shirt is blue, if you run fast enough”. 

 

“It was really hard finding one of your shirts that was appropriate for a child,” Cecil teased.

 

“Why?” Casey asked, wiping his mouth on a towel.

 

“You should probably take a bath, actually,” Carlos carefully changed the subject.

 

“I took a shower at the lab!” Casey argued.

 

“The decon shower isn't a real shower. You still had your clothes on and you're not really /clean/,” he stopped, thinking, “Well I guess you're actually more clean than you would be if you took a bath here because you were decontaminated... but you aren't aesthetically clean, in the sense that we both smell like chemicals and deep fried food.”

 

“Will you take a bath with me?” Casey pouted.

 

“Um... no?” Carlos arched an eyebrow. What a strange request.

 

“Oh take a bath with him, Carlos,” Cecil huffed, “It's his first one! I'll get the camera.”

 

“I guess I could get some swim trunks and do this but I'm a little concerned... Casey, you slept with us last night. You want me to /bathe/ with you? You haven't been away from us /at all/ since you got here. I don't know that it's good for you? I just... I think that kind of helicopter parenting can create separation anxiety and I really don't want to do that. Are you /sure/ you can't take a bath by yourself? What if we stay in the room?”

 

Casey's eyes were misting up.

 

“I just /really/ think it might be good for you to maybe... do... /something/ on your own?” Carlos couldn't meet his little eyes as tears leaked from him. Especially from the one on his forehead, which ran its tears in little rivulets until they met his eyebrows and then were deflected to meet the streams running down his cheeks. Carlos jerked his eyes to Cecil, who was glaring at him like he was an absolute monster.

 

“Of course we won't abandon you, sweety,” Cecil explained. He folded the shirt and put it on the toilet lid before reaching over to turn on the water. He squirted some bubble bath into the stream and watched it fill with bubbles, “Carlos go get your swimsuit or whatever.”

 

“...we can't do this every night.” Carlos argued.

 

“/Carlos/,” there was something in his tone that made Carlos afraid to argue. He left the room and headed to his closet. Cecil set to work stripping Casey out of the outfit that he'd arrived in, and plopped him in the warm water. While he waited on Carlos to get back, he helped the child make strange, temporary sculptures out of bubbles.

 

“Are you and papa fighting?” Casey asked.

 

“No,” Cecil replied with genuine confusion.

 

“Ok” Casey made himself a beard of bubbles.

 

“Why do you ask?” Cecil reached over and turned off the water.

 

Casey shrugged.

 

“Did Carlos say something about me?” 

 

Casey shrugged again and blew bubbles in Cecil's face.

 

Cecil's eyebrows knit together.

 

“You just seemed sad at the restaurant,” Casey explained, “I don't think anybody should be that sad with so much ice cream.” He thought a second and then a realization seemed to hit him, “Daddy? Are /we/ fighting?”

 

“What? No. Of course not!” Cecil took a bottle of shampoo and started to wash the child's hair, massaging it into his scalp, “I'm sorry, sweety, I just had a bad day at work. I'm not fighting with anybody. Sometimes, sad things happen, and it isn't anybody's fault. And we just have to do our best and try to look on the bright side of life. Close your eyes. You /really/ don't wanna get soap in that third eye.”

 

“So bad stuff happened and you don't know who to fight with?” Casey asked, eyes closed.

 

“There isn't anybody to fight with,” Cecil explained, “And no reason to fight. Sometimes things happen and it isn't... it isn't really anybody's fault. There's no one to blame and nothing that you can really do. We just have to do our best. Life is strange, unpredictable, terrifying, beautiful, full of so many potential things, and wonderful things, and dangerous things... sometimes sad things happen, sometimes difficult things happen...”

 

“But?” Casey asked as Cecil rinsed his hair.

 

“But what?” Cecil asked.

 

“Sometimes bad things happen, but?” Casey prodded.

 

“I don't know. Sometimes bad things happen. That's just a thing. We have to deal with it. Sometimes, often times, good things happen. Usually it's hard to tell where on the spectrum of positivity or negativity a thing is until you've already got it. Sometimes things catch you by surprise.” He sighed, and admitted, “When we got you, I didn't know you were going to be a positive thing. I was afraid. I was afraid something bad might happen, to Papa. There are /so many/ bad things, Casey. But I was wrong. You turned out to be a good thing, such a good thing. I really needed a good thing in my life right now.”

 

“So I'm not scary?” Casey pouted.

 

“No,” Cecil laughed, “But we'll work on it.”

 

Carlos smiled from his position behind Cecil, out of sight leaning against the door frame.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin

Cecil had moved from tipsy to full-blown drunk by the time Carlos had finished putting the kids to bed. He was strewn out on the couch with his head in Earl's lap, sobbing into his stomach. Earl had, at some point, folded his chef's coat over the back of one of their dining chairs, and was left in a NVHS tee that looked older than Carlos. Cecil had the tissue thin fabric bunched in his hands, and tore his gaze away only when Earl spoke.

 

“Why are you dressed like a stripper?”

 

“I... Cecil made me put on my swimsuit,” Carlos sheepishly pulled the front of the lab coat he was using a robe closed and crossed his arms to keep it that way, “Um... watch him while I put some clothes on?”

 

“He's an adult,” Earl ran his hand along Cecil's hair in soothing motions as if he were petting a cat.

 

“...anyway,” Carlos eventually continued, “I'm going to go throw my clothes back on.”

 

“No!” Cecil sat up, “Carlos stay here.”

 

“I'm just going to go throw my clothes on,” Carlos assured him, leaning over the back of the couch to gently stroke his face.

 

“Don't leave me!”

 

“Sweety, you're drunk. Why don't I make you some coffee?” Carlos suggested.

 

“No,” Cecil pouted, curling into the fetal position on one of the empty cushions, “Your coffee is terrible.”

 

“...I'll make some,” Earl sighed, “And a bacon sandwich for the inevitable hangover. You do keep /real/ food here, right?”

 

Cecil nodded, but Carlos was pretty sure that he didn't know the question was a jab at his dietary preference. He decided to let it go and turned to head back to the bedroom, but Cecil shot up and grabbed his forearm.

 

“Carloooooos,” he sang.

 

“Yeah, babe?”

 

“Take me with you.” Cecil sprawled over the back of the couch and Carlos giggled because it was so much like the way Casey had sprawled out in his arms, “Carry me.”

 

Carlos rolled his eyes, “Only because you'd carry me, and I love you.” He agreed, and with some difficulty, managed to get him in a form compact enough to carry. He set him gently on the bed, and opened the closet to find another pair of pajama pants. When he turned around, Cecil had picked his jeans up off the floor and was digging through his pockets. He heard the rhythmic pounding of the coffee hammer stop as Cecil found what he was looking for: Carlos's phone.

 

“Whatcha doin, babe?” Carlos asked cautiously, as he watched Cecil walk back to, and collapse onto, the bed. He sat next to him as Cecil pulled up his contact list, “Cece? What are you doing?”

 

“Calling Kevin,” Cecil replied, blinked, focused his thoughts, and went back to scrolling down the list.

 

“I... really wish you would... not... do that.”

 

“He's all alone out there Carlos! All alone out there with that... that /smiling god/.”

 

“He's really not. He has Doug, and Aleshia, and the entire masked army, and some of the people from the other dimensions, there are even a few people from Night Vale still there who didn't cross over. Not everyone wanted to come back, and not everyone wanted to come back through the dog park. There are people there, Cecil.” He wrapped an arm around his lover's shoulders, “And I really... I really don't want to talk to Kevin. Kevin is... difficult to talk to. He's /so much/ like you and he knows how to... how to make me think that he's even more like you. He knows... he knows how to make me think /so many/ things, Cece, and it's... it seems so normal while he's doing it, but then when you get away from him and you think about it, it's /really/ scary how much power he can have over a person with just a voice and a smile...”

 

Cecil had already found his name and tapped it. He slid the bar to the speaker icon just as Earl came in carrying three cups of aromatic, dark coffee. He gave Carlos a questioning look, but Carlos's face was contorted in pain so intense that he thought it must be physical until he heard the voice over the phone's tiny speaker. It was powerful, hopeful, and with a false cheer that implied the person had been crying.

 

“Carlos?”

 

Carlos made a gesture indicating that he wasn't there.

 

“No,” Cecil slurred slightly when he spoke, “It's Cecil, Kevin. When are you?”

 

“Oooh,” Kevin's voice dripped with venom, “Cecil! How nice to hear from you. My pretty little liar. Tell me, how /is/ life back in your perfect little town with your perfect little scientist? Made any interesting discoveries lately? Is the show going well?”

 

“The show is /not/ going well, actually,” Cecil admitted, shrugging Carlos off and sinking into a pillow, “I got a call today, through a time warp. Some kind of temporal distortion... I got a call... from you, Kevin. From you when you still had your radio show, back in Desert Bluffs. The /real/ Desert Bluffs.”

 

“Did you?” Kevin asked, interested, “Oh, Cecil, I didn't know that you were an expert in the nature of reality. That's so terribly fascinating. But /I/ would put forth that /this/ desert is just as real as yours. Maybe /more/ real, since it's closer to the /true/ god. We are bathed in it's brilliant, nurturing light. Everything is light, and light, and /light/. Why, even the nights, which aren't so much light as the day, are filled with the ever present rumbling of the love of the smiling god. Carlos, you know, your /boyfriend/, was /so close/ to unlocking the secrets of the great god before he got /distracted/.”

 

Carlos whimpered and dug around in the pillows. He refused to meet Earl's eye as he pulled out a stuffed dinosaur that Earl was immediately interested in. The spiritual energy emanating from the thing was so strong that /he/ could sense it. It must be blinding to Cecil. But it was a good energy, a protective energy, like the angels. He had a sudden urge to put that thing in a bloodstone circle and see what he could summon. Carlos hugged it to his chest and spoke.

 

“He isn't a distraction, Kevin. The perpetual energy of the smiling god... that was the distraction. That work kept me... it kept me trapped. I can see that now. It kept me focused on something that wasn't important. It kept me away from the people I care about. Life isn't the /distraction/, that research was... the distraction.”

 

“Oh, I /knew/ you were there, Carlos,” Kevin's voice perked up, “And we both know that you don't mean that. Your research meant /everything/ to you. You said that this was the most interesting place you'd ever studied.”

 

Earl glared at Carlos, and Carlos lunged for the phone.

 

“No I didn't,” he hissed at the receiver, “What I actually said was-”

 

“And now we'll never see the results of that brilliant research,” Kevin continued, talking over him, “I don't think we'll see another intelligent, dedicated, beautiful scientist out here for a long time. Time is so /strange/ out here, Carlos.”

 

“Let me /finish/,” Carlos pleaded, but Cecil took the phone back.

 

“Don't yell at him,” Cecil looked aghast, “He's been through a lot”.

 

“Night Vale is the most interesting place I've ever studied, Cecil! It's full of interesting people, and phenomena, and there's so much to study-”

 

“Oh?” Kevin asked, “Is that your story now that you're trapped there?”

 

“I'm not /trapped/ here, Kevin!” Carlos hugged the dinosaur closer and Cecil continued to glare at him, “I want to be here. With Cecil. I want to study Night Vale, there's /so much/ research that can be done here. And we're /happy/ here.”

 

“Did he tell you to say that?” Kevin asked, “The same way that he tells you where to live or how to style your hair or how to chew your food?”

 

“It isn't like that,” Carlos explained.

 

“Oh? My mistake,” Kevin's voice never wavered in it's cheerfulness, “Then you must have gotten so much done since you got back.”

 

“As a matter-of-fact, I'm in the middle of a great project right now,” Carlos explained, more forcefully than he had meant to, “On potential interdimensional beings.”

 

“Fascinating,” Kevin's cheery voice piped up, “It's too bad you had to take a break to deal with /someone's/ substance abuse problems. You're such a good lover, Carlos. I don't know that I could babysit a grown man who drinks until he passes out in the same clothes that he wore to work.”

 

“Kevin,” there was a warning tone in Carlos's voice, but Cecil cut in.

 

“Kevin, are you still being... exposed, to that smiling god?” Cecil asked.

 

“Oh /yes/.” Kevin sounded almost orgasmic, “In fact, now that I'm not being /pressured/ to use that device that blocks the god's glorious rays, I feel better than ever! I have so much /energy/ now. I can't stop smiling!” he laughed and continued, “Can not stop. Oh it feels so /good/ to smile again. I hadn't smiled, you know. I had actually been very /sad/, devastatingly sad. You see I /thought/ I had a very dear friend, maybe the first /living/ friend I had made in a /very/ long time. My coworkers at Strex were lovely people but they can be a bit... intense. Well you know that, Cecil, you worked with them. They weren't big on recreation, not huge on interpersonal relationships. Well /I/ say that networking is an integral part of any person's life; it's a key component to building a rich, full, living experience. But perhaps,” here his voice wavered a little, and they could hear the crinkling of paper, “Perhaps not for me. Perhaps we aren't /all/ meant to be... to have people who...” he took a breath and cleared his throat, “Anyway, it turns out I was mistaken. I was given an impassioned letter that made it /quite/ clear that my friendship was neither warranted, nor appreciated, nor even /necessary/”

 

“That's not what I said, Kevin,” Carlos's anger was waning as Kevin's voice broke.

 

“No!” Kevin hissed, and it was venomous, and so unlike his cheery voice that all three jumped, but he quickly settled back in to the false cheer they were so accustomed to, “No, dear Carlos, /beautiful/ Carlos, don't worry about /that/. Don't worry about me. I told you to pursue your own happiness, no matter how badly it hurt others. I'm /glad/ that you /chose/ to be /happy/. I just... sometimes I worry that you haven't made the /best/ decision. As a scientist, it's strange, to me, that you would make a decision without having amassed all the information regarding that decision. Isn't the first step in the scientific method observation?”

 

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” Carlos's voice softened.

 

“What did you do?” Cecil asked, then, at the phone, “What did he do?”

 

“Why /nothing/, Cecil.” Kevin sounded confused by the question, “Sometimes people, brilliant people, /productive/ people, simply get bogged down with life. Of course, sometimes /certain/ people have a kind of /persuasion/ that borders on /unethical/ that can hinder the decision-making process. I /do/ wish that you had... that /he/ had, talked to me, instead of giving me this... this” there was the sound of paper crinkling again and Kevin drew in a deep breath as if holding back a sob, “let's call it a resignation letter.”

 

“I couldn't talk to him,” Carlos explained, “I had to get it out, write it all down. When I talk to him, he... he twists my words, he... gets in my head. I've never been a very clear communicator anyway, and he's so hard to talk to...”

 

“You think I'm difficult to talk to?” Kevin asked in a gentle voice, “That... I must admit I'm getting mixed signals, beautiful Carlos. That isn't what you said when you had to listen to your boyfriend dying of a gas leak /on the radio/ because he didn't even think to tell you about it. When you thought Cecil may be killed by a giant, judgmental orb, and spent the night crying on my shoulder, you told me that I was /easy/ to talk to. When he asked for space, then complained that you weren't calling enough, or astral projecting enough, when he went to Mars and wouldn't listen to you when you tried to explain /how to save the planet/, every time you said that I was a /good/ listener. And now you say that I'm /difficult/ to talk to? I don't understand.”

 

“You think that I don't listen to you?” Cecil asked.

 

“No! I know you listen to me, I just...” Carlos looked like he was about to cry.

 

“You think I'm wishy-washy? Controlling?” Cecil turned to look at him, and Carlos wouldn't meet his gaze.

 

“No! I just.. am... /kind of/ afraid of you? Kind of? Like... no, fear is the wrong word. It's not fear. Forget I said that. I shouldn't have said that. I just... want you to be happy. And if you're happy because I... grow my hair out, or leave in the middle of experiments because you don't want me to stay overnight at the lab, or...”

 

“And don't forget that when Cecil isn't happy,” Kevin helpfully interjected, “People hear about it. There are /consequences/. People /die/.” he paused, giggled and continued, “Of course, that isn't all that unusual. People seem to die /all the time/, don't they? How many interns have you lost this week, Cecil? Death is a natural part of life.”

 

“I thought,” Earl spoke and all eyes darted to him because, truth be told, Carlos had forgotten he was there, “That we were going to talk about Kevin. All I've been hearing is a lot of dramatic waxing over this... outsider. So here's what I think needs to happen. Scientist, fortify. Sit up straight. You look like you're going to cry. Watch Cecil. Pull his hair back if he looks like he's going to throw up. Cecil, drink your coffee, brood all you want, but hand me the phone. I think that I need to talk to this... Kevin.”

 

When Cecil didn't make a move, he reached down and gently pried the phone out of his hands. He slid the icon from speaker to headpiece, and stuck it to his ear.

 

“Hello, Kevin,” he said, as he walked from the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's all I could think of for a description. Short and sweet.
> 
> So I straight up stole the "Carlos has a plush dinosaur" idea from http://doctorcrocker.tumblr.com/ and idk if they have an AO3 or not. But I also have a stuffed imaginary friend and I think that's an awesome idea.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos and Earl have a little chat

Carlos pressed a kiss to his lover's temple and tried to sit up. Sunlight filtered around the edges of the heavy, noise canceling curtains, and he could vaguely hear the loud bangs and crashes of the NightValian sunrise beyond the fragile glass. He buried his face deeper into Cecil's hair and inhaled the warm scent of... alcohol. Alcohol and sunflower perfume and the slight mist of grease from the diner last night. That meant that he was still here, lying next to him, wrapping his tentacles around him, still in love with him, no matter how angry he was that he had shouted at Kevin. Carlos kissed him again, and Cecil tightened his grip.

 

Carlos slid his hand down his lover's side, weaving an arm through the space where the tentacles disappeared, incorporeal, into his back, fading into the fabric of his shirt. He tried to slide his hand along Cecil's stomach, to push the fabric up and get some bonding, skin to skin contact, but he met, instead, another warm, solid body and sighed. Of course Casey was in bed with them again. Of course he was. Because it was /perfect/ for him to see Cecil a drunken, emotional mess. And because the universe had apparently aligned, and decided that Carlos was /never/ getting laid ever again. Casey was going to /have/ to start sleeping in his own bed. It wasn't /good/ for him to be this clingy. He was going to have to go to /school/. One of them couldn't be with him every second of every day, it just wasn't possible.

 

He rolled over and sat up, Cecil's tentacles still squeezing, weakly, in that sleep addled way, and found his glasses on the nightstand. He was annoyed, but it was nothing he couldn't deal with. He'd take a quick shower... or maybe a run. He needed to start running again. There were so many things to run from in NightVale that it wasn't good to let his muscles get used to all this sitting around that he'd been doing the past couple of days. He'd get up, go for a quick run, take a shower, make breakfast for his family and their guests, and then, after his friend had gone home, they would have a discussion with Casey about boundaries and independence. There was no need to embarrass him in front of Roger.

 

Except it wasn't Casey. Carlos's eyes fell on the sleeping form, the one Cecil had his arms wrapped around like a child clutching a security blanket or teddy bear, the kind of grip that is reserved for the type of grounding only an imaginary friend can provide. Earl was sleeping in their bed. Not only was Earl sleeping in their bed, but he was dressed in one of Carlos's T-shirts, which was a little big on him, and his boxers, and /nothing else/. So Earl was sleeping in their bed, half naked. Pantsless. In their bed. He cocked an eyebrow and took in the sight. He expected to feel a twinge of jealousy, but it never came. Instead, he observed, emotionless, as his brain went into an automatic, logic-based state that happened whenever he felt unpredicted stimuli.

 

Earl didn't look uncomfortable in the position, even though their bed wasn't huge and didn't /really/ fit three grown people comfortably. They had both been squished against Cecil, pinning him; he was facing Earl with his head buried in his chest, his arms wrapped around him, and Carlos had probably been hugging /both/ of them in his sleep, with Cecil's tentacles wrapped around him, as he snuggled into his back.

 

...This was fine. Earl was Cecil's childhood friend. They probably had lots of sleepovers. This was nothing new. Earl was paternal, protective, and kept Cecil out of trouble; he knew that, because Cecil had a penchant for getting into trouble, constantly overthrowing corporations and poking the sleeping dragon that was Night Vale's local government, and yet he wasn't /dead/ or re-educated to the point of losing competence. Carlos wondered how many nights Earl had slept in his bed while he was trapped in the desert otherworld.

 

He untangled himself from Cecil's grip, and kissed him gently on the back of the neck when he whined in protest, before circling the bed and laying a hand on Earl's shoulder. He had meant to shake him, gently, until he woke up, but as soon as Earl felt the light pressure of his palm, his eyes darted open and he turned to face Carlos with a look of inquiry; he was poised to asses an unknown situation, possibly to attack. The expression startled Carlos and he drew back as if he had touched a flame.

 

“Oh,” Earl said, and pushed him self up, gently moving Cecil's arms. He was silent for a few minutes, while Carlos tried to steady himself, and the awkwardness hung, thick in the air like a fog.

 

“You're wearing my shirt,” was the only thing that Carlos could think to say, and it sounded lamer than it had in his head, not only because it /was/ lame, but because it had taken him far too long to say it.

 

“Yeah, I...” Earl trailed off and Carlos, ever observant, thought that... though it could easily be a trick of the light, since they hadn't turned on a light and were mostly obscured in shadow, he could have sworn that Earl was... blushing.

 

“Cecil likes it when I sleep in your shirts,” he finished, climbing out of bed, “I should have asked but by the time I got off the phone with that lunatic, you were both asleep and honestly, I couldn't wake you up. Well,” he chuckled, thinking, “I /could/ have, but it wouldn't have been pleasant, so I chose not to. You're a heavy sleeper. That's not a good thing here. I could slit your throat and you probably wouldn't wake up.”

 

“Thank you for... not? Doing that?” Carlos replied in confusion, still interested, “Earl can we talk?”

 

“Not here,” Earl ran a hand through Cecil's hair, “I don't want to wake him up.” He looked up, and finally ran his eyes over Carlos's body. He was still only wearing his flannel pajama pants, and Earl's eyes focused on his chest for an uncomfortably long time before he finally murmured, “Dumbass”.

 

Carlos suddenly felt really self-conscious about the scars that littered his chest, particularly the big one that had formed after Teddy Williams had had to stitch together charred and melted flesh after he was shot point blank with some sort of incinerary explosive by the tiny civilization that he had... in all honesty- that he had jumped into. Earl was right. He felt like an idiot. He hung his head, mumbled an apology, and walked to the closet to pull a random shirt out to cover it. Not only had he acted like an idiot, now any time anyone, especially anyone in Night Vale, /looked/ at him, they would /know/ he was an idiot. He had a permanent reminder of his idiocy. And he was supposed to be an intellectual, a /scientist/. No one would listen to him... everyone would think, “That dumbass who almost got himself killed at the bowling alley” or “That dumbass who got stuck in the dog park”. Kevin was right, the only way he could redeem himself was through the perpetual energy project.

 

Wait... what?

 

No.

 

No, Kevin wasn't right. He knew Kevin wasn't right. Why had he even thought that?

 

Oh. Right. Because he was a dumbass.

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and tensed.

 

“Hey,” Earl said softly, “Let me make you some coffee.”

 

Carlos nodded, and soon found himself sitting at the bar as Earl, somehow, /quietly/ smashed the coffee beans into a fine powder and started the machine. He ran a hand through his mussed, tangled hair and refused to meet Earl's gaze, leaving them both in silence again. It was awkward for Carlos, but Earl didn't seem to notice. In fact, he was the one who spoke first.

 

“So that annoying little doppleganger is on the short list of people I'm going to punch in the face,” he said, conversationally.

 

“mm,” Carlos agreed.

 

Earl sighed, and paused in the task of getting cups down, “Carlos. Nothing happened between me and Cecil last night. Or... ever. Don't be jealous.”

 

“I'm not jealous, actually.” Carlos explained. He had taken off his glasses and held them haphazardly by the earpiece as he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, “I just... feel like such an outsider. You're... you two are... have so much history. And I... got stuck for a /year/ in an alternate dimension because... I don't even know why. I lost sight of... of what was important. I...”

 

Earl sat the cup down in front of him, “Gods, you're /emotional/.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“No, it's... well, yeah, it's annoying. But it's also refreshing. To see someone who isn't so guarded. And it isn't always this aggravating. When you're happy it's...” he spoke the next word reluctantly, like it was being dragged, kicking and screaming, from his lips, “Cute. When you gushed about Cecil, when you asked him to move in with you, it was... it was cute.” He looked defeated, “This is just the other side of that coin.”

 

“...wow, Earl,” Carlos had never expected any kind of praise from the man, “thanks”.

 

“mm,” Earl sipped his dark, bitter, coffee, “And your clothes are comfortable. Practical. I love Cecil, but he can be an idiot for the sake of fashion. Leather pants in the desert.” he shook his head, a wry smile on his face, and then focused back on Carlos, “Listen scientist. I may have misjudged you. A little. Dealing with that... /man/ for a week would be a bit much for me. There's no way I would have lasted a year. I'd have smashed in his head and eaten his organs to gain his power after a few days of that.”

 

“...he can get on your nerves,” Carlos reluctantly admitted, “But Cece is right. It isn't him, it's that smiling god. He's Cecil's double. He's /so much/ like Cece. If that /god/ hadn't gotten to him, hadn't broken him, he could be something, someone. He can be rehabilitated.”

 

“I don't care,” Earl shrugged.

 

“That's... harsh,” Carlos looked at him, but he was absorbed in his coffee.

 

“Look, Carlos,” Earl sat the cup down and leaned across that bar, “That lunatic tried to kill Cecil. He tried to turn you to the smiling god, do you not see that? That little project he pushed you to work on, the one that harnessed the energy to power your electricity, your apartment, your cell phone, the one that /absorbed and directed/ the power of the smiling god? That can be, and would have been, /weaponized/.”

 

Carlos's mouth fell open as the gears in his head clicked into place. Of course. Of course Kevin wanted to use it as a weapon. And he knew the portal to Night Vale opened through to dog park. He knew that people could come back and forth because /Carlos/ had invited /Cecil/. /Carlos/ had almost built him a weapon, and showed him where to fire it. He was speechless.

 

“By the gods how are you this naive?” Earl asked, “Are all outsiders so...” he trailed off when he caught Carlos's crestfallen expression, “Well, you're more susceptible to suggestion, anyway. You don't have /any/ guards up, and Kevin just took advantage of that. You're lucky that Cecil grabbed onto you first, because any being like him, with the power of suggestion, could have turned you inside out by now.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Carlos said again.

 

Earl reached out across the bar and laid his hand on the back of Carlos's, “You just... are too friendly for your own good. Too trusting. You've gotten comfortable, and you can't do that.” he sighed, averted his eyes then darted them back, “I think that you're good for Cecil,” he reluctantly admitted, “/But/ I think that you need to learn how to handle yourself. Because I can't watch both of you.”

 

“...why are you being so nice to me?” Carlos met his eyes, “I thought you didn't like me.”

 

“See? Like that. That's a good start, outsider. Stay on your toes.” Earl smiled and slapped him on the shoulder, “I'm gonna make some breakfast. See what I can scrounge up that tastes decent. Gonna learn how to make an omelet /without/ breaking a few eggs.”

 

He turned his back to the bar and walked into the kitchen, so he didn't see Carlos's soft smile as he finished his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't edit this because it's like 3am and I wanna go to bed so if it magically changes one day that's because I took down the first draft and put up an edited version.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a fluff chapter of adorableness

“Papa that HURTS!” Casey shrieked and Carlos was ready to pull his own hair out just to prove her wrong. He was sitting on the couch with the child between his knees, /trying/, desperately, to brush out the rat's nest that had developed during the night. Roger sat on the opposite end of the couch, watching, with Koshek on his lap, his usual controlled, emotionless expression on his face.

 

“I wouldn't hurt if you'd stop fighting me,” Carlos explained patiently.

 

“Hey!” Cecil leaned over the couch, “Carlos? What kind of flower says 'I'm sorry I accused you of mind control enslavement even though we've been friends for years and I should have known better and now I feel like kind of a jerk'?”

 

“Um...” Carlos spoke around the brush that he stuck in his mouth so he could use his hands to corral Casey's hair into pigtails, “Honestly, the only flower symbology I know is that roses are romantic and lilies are for funerals. I'm not huge on flowers.”

 

“Earl! What kind of flower says-”

 

“You want white tulips!” Earl called from the kitchen.

 

“Thanks,” Cecil turned his attention back to the phone, and Carlos leaned back to admire his handiwork.

 

Casey had woken up in a feminine mood and had dressed herself in one of Janice's old dresses, which came down to her ankles, but she, like every Palmer before her, was somehow able to pull off ridiculous fashion as if it were Parisian couture. Her hair was short, so the pigtails stuck straight up in tight curls on either side of her head, and Carlos was happy to see that her hair /wasn't/ pure black anymore. Some of it was coming in a deep, dark purple.

 

“Am I pretty, Papa?” she asked.

 

“You're gorgeous.” He replied, “You have your daddy's fashion sense.”

 

Cecil walked back, fretting, and threw himself over the back of the couch so that he landed on Carlos's lap and nearly kicked Roger in the face.

 

“Oh, sorry, kiddo. You're so quiet.” He pulled his legs back quickly and turned his attention to Casey, “Oooh, somebody's spared by the sphere,”.

 

“Papa says I'm pretty like you,” Casey explained, twearling and watching the skirt flow around her.

 

“Papa's the pretty one,” Cecil smirked.

 

Roger leaned against the arm rest and sighed. He liked Casey, but he was beyond ready to leave. Carlos gently pushed Cecil off his lap. Roger was either still at an age where romantic relationships were 'icky' or he was having romantic problems. He thought about saying something, and immediately decided against it.

 

Instead he asked, “So when are we meeting Dana for your big apology?”

 

“It won't be big,” Cecil huffed, “And I'm not /super/ sorry. I had every right to think it was her. But we're having lunch at Gino's at 1. I thought that maybe after we could take Casey back-to-school shopping. We really need to sign her up for that.”

 

“School's already started,” Roger explained, “Maybe she should wait for next year.”

 

“Eh,” Earl came into the dining area carrying a tray, “People do late enrollment all the time. Besides, school's good for kids. Builds character. That's where me and Cecil met. You make lifelong friendships in school.”

 

“If people remember you,” Roger muttered under his breath, but Carlos caught it and shot him a look of sympathy. He needed to work on that. There had to be a reason that no one remembered Roger's existence until he was in fifth grade. He probably didn't just magically appear. Probably.

 

“Even if they don't,” Carlos shrugged, “God knows I had some times in grade school I'd like to forget. I was an annoying kid.”

 

“How unbelievable,” Earl smirked, “Come on, breakfast.”

 

Cecil giggled in a way that made Carlos think there was some inside joke that he wasn't privy to, and scooped Casey into his arms to carry her to the table. She giggled and threw herself into the embrace, and Carlos had more or less stopped worrying about her complete lack of survival instinct. It wasn't like Cecil was going to drop her.

 

“Earl you don't have to cook for us just because you're here. You cook all the time at work, it's got to be annoying,” Cecil sighed.

 

“Yeah, the master's know you don't run your mouth off the clock,” Earl smirked, and Cecil slapped him in the arm.

 

Carlos's eyes grew wide when he saw what Earl had put on the table. Vegan Zucchini Frittattas, individual ones, which would require pans smaller than they had... they looked like they were on serving dishes... paired with fresh fruit drizzled with some kind of crumbs and some kind of sauce... every meal Earl served looked like it belonged in a five star restaurant.

 

“Eat up, kiddo,” Earl instructed, ruffling his son's hair, “You have school tomorrow. We need to run home and do any homework you've got.”

 

“You don't need to help me with my homework, dad,” Roger sounded annoyed.

 

“I like it,” Earl smiled, “Besides, you're smarter than me and I like seeing it in action. It's like watching my own species evolve. You're like a better version of me.”

 

“Creepy,” Casey pulled her orange milk closer, the glass comically large in her small hands, “Who am I the better version of?”

 

“Me,” Carlos pipped up instantly, “You're like me if I were prettier and had second sight and better charisma.”

 

“What's charisma?”

 

“You're /incredibly/ charismatic, my perfectly imperfect Carlos,” Cecil purred.

 

“Charisma,” Roger explained, because it seemed like no one else was going to, “Is the ability to manipulate people, by friendly tactics, by diplomacy, rather than by violence. There's a badge for that. It's easier to do when you're still young and cute.”

 

“I wasn't good at it when I was young and cute,” Earl huffed, cutting into his frittata, “Cecil had to help me with that badge.”

 

“I was the cute one?” Cecil asked confused, “I thought I was the smart one.”

 

“/I/ was the smart one. You were the cute one,” Earl smirked, “Your memory is all wonky.”

 

“But Carlos is the cute one,” Cecil seemed lost in thought now. He had confused himself.

 

“Yeah, why is that?” Earl asked, arching an eyebrow, “I was going to ask you that this morning, scientist.”  
  


“Ask me what?” Carlos finally took a bite and let out an involuntary hum of joy, followed by, “Oh my /god/ Earl you're /perfect/. It's so fluffy.”

 

Earl smiled and let it sink in before he continued, “Why do you look so good? I've never seen you do a /damn/ thing.”

 

“Um...” Carlos's eyes darted across the table to the kids, “I...” and to Cecil who was giggling, which meant he was probably blushing, “What?”

 

“You're /stacked/,” Earl explained, “With lots of lean muscle and very little fat, your bmi must be nearly perfect, but I've /never/ seen you do anything. I've never seen you do any cardio, any strength training, any stretches. What's up with that?”

 

“I'm,” Carlos choked himself and took a /long/ drink of his orange milk while Casey stared at him.

 

“You embarrassed him!” Casey giggled.

 

“I exercise,” Carlos's voice, when he got it back, was defensive, “But I don't really want to go into my routine.” his eyes darted back to Casey and Roger, “Here.” He thought for a minute and then continued, “Oh, plus I did wander the desert for like six months, constantly walking and not really eating at all. That same energy that powers our electronics seems to sustain biological beings with no need for outside energy sources. I'm not sure how, because I'm not a biologist, and then even after we settled down, I helped build an apartment building with /very/ rudimentary tools, so I have a right to have a /little/ bit of muscle. You don't have to exercise that much when you do a lot of manual labor. And it's actually really good for you, it clears you mind, keeps you from thinking about things... about people.”

 

“So you're really strong?” Casey asked.

 

“Not really,” Carlos shrugged, “I've let myself go since then. Your daddy is stronger than I am by a /lot/. See, Casey, I'm kind of a nerd. My people don't really like /exercising/. We like darkness... and computers.”

 

“I think I let my license to use a computer expire,” Cecil's head darted up, “Damn it! I meant to get that renewed! My tumblr! How will I show people my wood carvings of Koshek!?”

 

“I mean, I can post them, babe,” Carlos shrugged, “But yeah we need to renew that. Actually, we might want to stop by city hall anyway and see what all paperwork we need to put Casey in school-”

 

He was cut off by an annoyed, annoying sound that Cecil was making, “Uuuuuugh it is an /ordeal/,” Cecil laid both hands on the table, “I went with Abby to register Janice when she first started and I wanted to rip my hair out. Paperwork and blood sacrifices and vaccines and just uuuuuugh,”.

 

“Lovely,” Carlos frowned, “But we need to do it. Nothing is more important than a good education. We'll need a list of school supplies too.”

 

“Our infrastructure could defiantly be better,” Earl huffed, “That school is robbing us blind. They're wanting these kids to buy their own tissues, and bullets and hand sanitizer... my kid's not using hand sanitizer. You antibacterial...erize everything and he'll never develop an immune system. He's going to have a /strong/ immune system like we did, like a /scout/.”

 

“...I agree with that,” Carlos added, “plus using antibacterial soap on everything just forces bacteria to evolve faster and then we get super bacteria.”

 

“Super bacteria!?” Cecil asked, “So like... is it giant? Giant evil germs. Oh my gods... is that what the glow cloud ALL HAIL is!?”

 

“All hail,” said Roger, Carlos, and Earl. Casey stared at them, and then added, “ALL HAIL!”

 

“Probably not,” Carlos assured him, “No it's just a really strong strand of bacteria that it's harder to kill, so once you get sick, antibiotics might not work.”

 

“Nobody actually uses that stuff, dad,” Roger assured him, “I don't know why it was even on the list. These eggs taste weird.”

 

“It's not eggs, it's tofu that's been soaked, silken, and beaten,” Earl explained, “With the mushrooms, spinach, zucchini, and whatever else they had in the fridge that looked like it was getting ready to attack.”

 

“Earl,” there was a warmth in Carlo's voice that reeked of sincerity, “Thank you.”

 

Earl rolled his eyes. “You're welcome. Toughen up, outsider.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casey's slow on the rituals like Carlos was in the crossover special, where everyone was all "Interloper!" and then Carlos was like, "Oh yeah! Interloper." Like not into it at all.
> 
> http://cecilspeaks.tumblr.com/post/100041657976/the-thrilling-adventure-hourwelcome-to-night-vale


	14. Crossroad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos finally manages to contact his family outside NightVale to tell them about his recent adoption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the start of an off-shoot I'm doing of this series that I think the people following it will like. I'm grouping them together in a "series" format because they'll take place in the same AU. But I've been on a... binge of something that I'm keeping secret right now that gave me an idea for a crossover and I wanted to do it in this AU. The next chapter I post here will be back to the story I've got planned here. Just some hints for the story this is branching into: The crossover I'm thinking of is probably something that you all know. Time is WEIRD in Night Vale; remember that when Carlos's boss from the university came looking for him, she said that her research scientist had been missing for /decades/. That means that Carlos has spent three years in Night Vale, but AT LEAST 20 years have passed to outsiders.

“Carloooooooooos,” Cecil called out as he stepped through the door, leafing through envelopes and holding a cardboard box under his arm.

 

“In the lab, babe!” Came the reply, followed by the sound of an explosion, followed by a child's laughter.

 

Cecil followed all these sounds as he took the stairs to the basement, going through the mail, and only looked up after he heard Carlos explaining /something/ about chemical reactions. He sat the cardboard box on a work-surface and pulled himself onto a stool. Casey's face was covered in soot, except for a strange clean spot around her eyes left by the safety goggles. Carlos was giggling, and picking up a beautiful crystal with a pair of tongs.

 

“Let's see,” Cecil went on, “Electric bill, sewer bill, water bill, gravity bill,”

 

“I'm not paying that,” Carlos interrupted, “We didn't have gravity for /three days/ last month, and until they agree not to charge us I'm not paying.”

 

“They'll shut it off!”

 

“I told you to call them,” he continued, walking to the flame hood and setting the crystal inside, “Everything was floating around... I have a /lot/ of experiments that need the laws of physics to /work/.”

 

“You got the gutters cleaned,” Cecil pointed out.

 

“That's not the point,” Carlos pouted.

 

“What's this?” Casey asked, trying to get the box Cecil had sat down.

 

“Don't fool with that,” Cecil pushed it farther back, out of her reach, “That's from the venomous pet of the month club. We're just gonna throw that in the incinerator.”

 

“I thought you canceled that?” Carlos asked, coming over and pushing the safety goggles onto his forehead. He leaned down and planted a quick kiss to the tip of Cecil's nose, tickling him and forcing a giggle.

 

“I did,” Cecil tried to let out an exasperated sigh, but couldn't quite pull it off with Carlos still so close to his face, “I canceled three times. They keep sending them.”

 

“There's a hole in this!” Casey pointed out, and Carlos leaned his forehead onto Cecil's as Cecil let out a groan.

 

“Oooh!” Cecil announced, “Here! This will make you feel better about the potential death that just escaped that box.” He handed Carlos a letter.

 

Carlos took it and his face lit up, “Cecil! She wrote back! She wrote back! She never answers the phone, she won't tell me her e-mail, she doesn't have a facebook, but /she wrote back/!” He ripped into the envelope.

 

“Who?” Casey asked, finally reaching and opening the empty box.

 

“My sister!” Carlos's grin was lighting the room as he read over the letter, “She says that she's happy to hear from me! That she wants to see me! That she wants to see Casey! That...” he paused and trailed of, his brow furrowing for a minute before perking up again, “Anyway... it's been a /long/ time since I've been home. Years... I can't wait to see everybody again.” his grin took on a more... sinister appearance as he moved closer to Cecil and wrapped his arms around his waist, “To show you off.”

 

Cecil giggled and wrapped his arms around Carlos's shoulders, “Oooo,” he matched his smile, “You want to brag about your fancy 'scientifically interesting' boyfriend?”

 

“Mm-hm,” Carlos hummed, leaning in, pulling Cecil closer.

 

“Well,” Cecil's voice had dropped a full octave, “I'll have to request some vacation time,” he slid his hands down to play with the lapels of Carlos's lab coat, “But I'm sure I can work /something/ out. I can be /quite/ /persuasive/.”

 

“You are /very/ good at getting what you want,” Carlos agreed.

 

“THERE IT IS” Casey shrieked, pointing at a scorpion. Acting quickly she pulled a random book from a shelf and threw it with all her might. There was a sickening crunch of a broken exoskeleton, followed by a round of applause from Cecil.

 

“Perfect throw, sweety!” he exclaimed, “Tamika would be proud.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apology lunch with Dana

“When we get to the kids's store after this,” Cecil explained, wrangling Casey into holding his hand and then keeping a deathgrip on her, “I want to get one of those child-leashes.”

 

“Really?” Carlos frowned, “I've never really liked those. It kinda makes the kid feel like a pet, you know? She's not a pet. She's our baby...”

 

“Then can you use your science to find a way to suck the adrenaline out of her blood so we can sell it as an energy drink? I'm old. I can't keep up with this.”

 

“Daddy! Look!” Casey shrieked and pointed.

 

“What are... there's nothing there,” Carlos sighed, disappointed.

 

“What are you talking about?” Cecil glanced over his shoulder, “She's pointing at the clock tower.”

 

“You can /see/ the clock tower!?” Carlos's eyes widened and he shoved the flowers in Cecil's direction with one hand, and pulled out his danger meter with the other. “I know it creates /physical/ sensation, it does actually exist, but I've not been able to find or track it with it teleporting everywhere and being invisible! I need to take some readings!”

 

“We need to take some readings!” Casey explained, mimicking Carlo's intonations perfectly and trying to pull away.

 

“And maybe a /boyfriend/ leash as well!” Cecil huffed as he grabbed Carlos by the lab coat and proceeded to /drag/ him to the Gino's.

 

“You don't get those from the kid's section, babe,” Carlos grinned, and Cecil tightened his grip.

 

They found themselves in a classy, understated room with no decorations, but a large window and a dining table that blended inconspicuously into the background. Dana was already seated, but she didn't look up at them when she came in, instead staring at her phone, which Carlos could see held some kind of spreadsheet. She finished it up quickly and turned to them.

 

“Sorry, Cecil, I had some mayoral issues to IS THAT CASEY!?” She jumped up and ran to them, kneeling to be at Casey's eye level when she introduced herself, “My name is Dana. I'm friends with your parents! We worked together. Cecil gave me my start at the radio station, and Carlos helped me overthrow a bloody cult of office workers! You look just like them. Your parents I mean. Not the cult.”

 

“Papa said I was pretty this morning, but we're gonna get me some more clothes,” Casey twearled and her skirt flounced, “This is my cousin Janice's outfit. She's got cute clothes but she's bigger than me. She's in /middle school/.” Casey came to a stop and thought for a second before asking, “You fought a bunch of office workers?”

 

Carlos pulled out a seat for Cecil, “Sweety, Papa's not real keen to talk about that. Not a great lunchtime conversation topic. Dana is the /mayor/ now, she doesn't want to think about her time stuck in the Desert 0therworld.”

 

“That place was /strange/,” Dana agreed, standing and making her way to the table.

 

“Here,” Cecil sat the bouquet down.

 

“0h, Cecil,” she sighed with joy, “Apology flowers? You didn't have to...”

 

“I should have known that you would never mind control me into being a body guard,” Cecil admitted, “You know me. You know how useless I would be at it.”

 

“You know,” Dana sniffed the flowers and then leaned in conspiratorally, “I heard that there's this doctor up at the hospital who did the Wallaby girl's transplant who's looking for a compatible body for Violet. They're having a hard time, because it's difficult to find dragons, let alone dragon donor bodies with compatible tissue.”

 

“I haven't /forgiven/ Violet,” Cecil hissed, “You don't know what he /put me through/.”

 

A waiter appeared with glasses and a bottle of chilled wine; he wordlessly left them and disappeared, so Cecil took to pouring. Carlos feared he'd pour a glass for Casey, so filler her's with ice water from the bucket before Cecil had a chance.

 

“I can understand that, Cecil,” Dana glanced back at her phone, then gracefully nibbled one of the flowers, stem first, “But he was the only McDanials not trying to kill me. And Troy says that he's been asking for you.”

 

“He's asking for /me/?” Cecil narrowed his eyes, “I don't want to talk to him at all! I'm not gonna get /strip searched by the secret police/ to talk to him! That's a ridiculous request!”

 

“Who's Violet?” Casey asked as the waiter sat her plate in front of her.

 

“Excuse me, sir?” Carlos asked, and picked it up, “Can she have something else? Maybe skip right to desert? 0R just... anything less bloody? I'm afraid she'll turn into a mushroom.”

 

“0h!” Cecil continued, “Yes. She has a blood allergy.” The waiter begrudgingly took the plate and he turned back to his boyfriend, “You know, Carlos we really should have told them that when we came in to be seated...”

 

“Told who?” Carlos asked, looking around. He didn't even know where the waiter went.

 

“I wanna be a mushroom!” Casey giggled, “I'll fight the Koopas”.

 

“What are you talking about?” Cecil cocked an eyebrow at her, “What in the world is a Koopa?”

 

Carlos, in turn, cocked an eyebrow at him, “How can you not know what a... are video games banned by the City Council? Cece. Cece look at me. I have a gameboy /in my pocket/ that has survived two dimensional rifts and five explosions. Do I need to get rid of it? Because it's made of Nintendonium and I'm not sure that I can.”

 

“0000h, what is /that/?” Cecil asked, scooting closer to look at the battered and beaten gameboy that Carlos had produced, but he hid it when the waiter returned with a bloodless mushroom for Casey.

 

“Casey?” Carlos asked, “Have you ever... played Mario?”

 

“Nope!” Casey chirped happily, biting into her mushroom and eating with her hands instead of cutting it.

 

“I've never seen any ads in Night Vale for video games. Casey, how did you know about the Mushroom Kingdom?” Carlos went on carefully.

 

“You're really good at it, silly,” she replied casually, and then, to Dana, “Papa is /really/ good at video games.”

 

Carlos had his eyes narrowed, studying her. He rubbed his chin and said “hmmm” and leaned back in his chair. “Casey did you... if I give you this gameboy, and told you to play it, we'd be here until you beat Bowser, wouldn't we?”

 

“Bowser?” Cecil asked.

 

“When she drink's someone's blood, I think that she gains their strengths. You know, like Kirby but less creepy, because he eats your soul-” Carlos tried to explain, but Dana cut him off.

 

“0h!” She exclaimed, “I know that one! The adorable little pink cannibal that feeds on the souls of his enemies! My brother and I used to play it for hours! Cecil I know you remember Kirby!” 

 

“I have no idea what you two are talking about. Is this some sort of... young people thing?” Cecil took a big bite of his mushroom, followed by a long sip of wine.

 

“0h, right,” Dana elbowed Carlos, “I keep forgetting that you're dating an old man. Back in Cecil's day people rode horses and didn't need fancy new fangled things like 'electricity'.”

 

“That /Tesla/,” Cecil sighed happily, waving his fork in midair and looking at noone in particular, “Nikki had the most gorgeous, dark, wavy hair I've ever seen...” He then realized what he was doing and tried to backtrack, “I mean.... the /second/,”.

 

“No, honey, I get it, I've seen pictures...” Carlos joined his dreamy sigh, “Believe me, if I ever had the chance,” his eyes flickered to Casey, “To work with /Tesla/, I would be on that in a heartbeat... We could study anatomy... or chemistry... he was an electrical genius, I bet he could make me see sparks...”

 

“Dana!” Cecil stood and slammed his hands on the table, “I need you to watch my kid while I run to the house and get a time machine, an HD camera, and a lotta,” he paused and his eyes darted to Casey as well, “Massage oil”.

 

“I'd love to hang out with Casey while you broke the law for... something that important,” Dana was looking at her phone again, “But I actually have to head out. Mayoral duty and all.” She rose from her seat, picked up the brick that had appeared on the table and tossed it through the window. She was out the window and climbing into her car before anyone could say good-bye, but Casey waved.

 

There was silence for a moment before Carlos finally asked the question that had been burning through him the entire meal. “0k but how would she know Kirby and not Mario?”

 

“Do you think I would look good in that pants suit?” Cecil asked by way of an answer.

 

Carlos thought a second before replying, somewhat annoyed that no one would talk about video games with him, “Honey you /know/ you would. I think you actually have those cute purple pumps that would look good with it, too. Since it's so dressy, you know.”

 

“0h I wouldn't get it in /black/,” Cecil explained, “Dana's gotten so drab now that she's mayor.”

 

“You look cute right now,” Carlos smiled, and leaned over to give him boyfriend a peck on the cheek. There was no check, but there was a brick, so Dana must have already paid for the food. He dug through his wallet and threw down a couple of singles for a tip, then picked up Casey and jumped through the broken window. When he looked back, Cecil had emerged carrying the bottle of wine they hadn't finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cecil. It wouldn't have done him any good anyway. I think Tesla was asexual.


End file.
